SEAT-MATES Seated together – my established white hair and his restless 40 years. We were bound for Phoenix, home for me, a plane change for him. He had a lot to say, many questions. He was excited about airplanes, hamburgers, a vacation. His sister would meet him in Yuma, his mother saw him off in Vancouver. An airline escort checked on him. What food do you like? I had barbecue last night. Do you like barbecue? I like pork chops too. Do you like . . . I produced a book of poetry as an escape, he ordered more coffee and five sugar packets. He asked what I was reading. I read aloud a poem by Emily Dickinson. We should think about these words, I say. We offered feelings about the few stanzas; we listened; we talked. As we concluded he rubbed his hands together and announced, That was fun! Let’s do another one.
different wavelengths read poetry together in the troposphere
This day she finds sand
to dig, not knowing the crow
will feed on soft eggs.
While in Delaware in June, the lake turtles faithfully came ashore to deposit eggs. They dug in the sand, expelled the eggs, covered the dozens of eggs and returned to the water. Often a crow watched, waited and consumed. I felt sorry.