“Doors to manual”
and the flight finally
lands.
We burst from the plane
like a can of cola
unzipped. At last!
All night long
in that shaken tube,
that intimate kaleidoscope
of strangers – but now
it’s Passports, Baggage
and escape.
There’s barely time
to drop the cases
before a child
has flown like a bird
to perch in your arms
by your cheek.
© John Looker 2015
This was first published (under the title ‘The Arrival‘) by the Austin International Poetry Festival in their 25th anniversary anthology ‘When Time and Space Conspire’, 2017. It was reproduced in my second book ‘Poems for my Family’ (Bennison Books, 2018). Both are available through Amazon.
More important: it was first written for my granddaughter Evie.
By your cheek … how I miss that
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: petebowes on 12 April, 2020
at 12:48
Well, your novel The Next Headland certainly celebrates that kind of love. Totally unsentimental novel. Loved it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: John Looker on 12 April, 2020
at 13:16
Ethel and I both read this this Easter morning, John. What makes this so good is what is not stated. Like much of Ethel’s poetry it paints both a visual and an emotional image:
All night long
in that shaken tube,
that intimate kaleidoscope
of strangers – but now
it’s Passports, Baggage
and escape.
and then follows that up with a message that is not stated, but sticks in the reader’s mind. A poem about love and coming out of confinement, this is the perfect poem about Easter in the middle of a pandemic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: Thomas Davis on 12 April, 2020
at 14:37
Hello Tom – thank you, how nice to picture you and Ethel reading this together. Best wishes to you both on this very strange Easter Sunday.
LikeLike
By: John Looker on 12 April, 2020
at 14:41
“cola unzipped” is a wonderful image of arrival after a long flight. And then your poem gets to the bit where being “zipped” for so long is suddenly forgotten!
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: Bruce Goodman on 12 April, 2020
at 18:06
Hello Bruce – it’s good to hear from you, and thank you. Best wishes.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: John Looker on 12 April, 2020
at 18:14
Bring on the tears. We have cancelled our flight to our one-year-old granddaughter in Chicago and our arms ache for the eighteen-month-old grandson who we looked after every week until this February.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: hilarycustancegreen on 13 April, 2020
at 08:22
That’s hard Hilary, very hard. We have to hope that normal life will resume in the not too distant future; but meanwhile our grandchildren won’t stop growing up!
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: John Looker on 13 April, 2020
at 08:45
We are among the lucky ones in every other way, so the we accept our small price.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: hilarycustancegreen on 15 April, 2020
at 22:13
Another wonderful poem, John. I admire and learn from your poetry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: The Cheesesellers Wife on 13 April, 2020
at 20:39
Thank you Kim. I am honoured.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: John Looker on 13 April, 2020
at 22:54
A delightful poem, John.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: Betty Hayes Albright on 28 April, 2020
at 20:01
Thank you so much Betty. I’m sorry, I seem to have missed your comment until today. Take care.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: John Looker on 4 May, 2020
at 07:51
Beautiful poem, John.
LikeLiked by 1 person
By: Francina on 4 May, 2020
at 07:37
Thank you Francina, I’m grateful.
LikeLike
By: John Looker on 4 May, 2020
at 07:52
Beautiful! This summer has been difficult for all. Your poem is comforting!
LikeLike
By: Lynda Bullerwell poetry on 2 July, 2020
at 03:17
Thank you Lynda. It certainly has been difficult. I hope you and yours are getting through in good shape.
LikeLike
By: John Looker on 2 July, 2020
at 07:49