To Julia

To Julia, On Her Departure for England

I wish we’d had more time
Not been thriftless, not floated
In that magic bubble, oblivious to earth,
And weeks, and years.

I wish I’d said what now
I can’t say, as the engines’ whine
Erases even thought, much less words.

Terminal farewells are so--terminal.
I stand behind the lines of uncaring,
Anxious self-loading air freight,

Watch you stripped by the x-ray,
Next passive before the wands held by heedless zombies,
Seeking out your breasts, your groin,
Going where I wish I’d gone
And now never will.

I hope you find in the land that birthed
Your mothers, fathers,
In ages past remembering
All I couldn’t give you,
All this land, so big, so strange, couldn’t give you,

But yet I fear, that there, as here,
There isn’t the home you need, or the love.
In the land from which you came
As here, you’re a stranger there.

© 2011 estragon