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Poem

Where will I be?
When your plane bursts the clouds
On its way back home
To your boys’ embrace and Asia 
Dissolves
Like a forgotten stopover
On another ticket to Destination 
Life.

So where will I be?
When the softness of your hair 
Cascades gently into your 
Tall form to 
Tilt its magic and I suddenly remember it’s
Just a memory in the 
Faded album of my 
Never taken
 Photographs.

Think too,
Where will I be? 
When dearest Julie asks,
“Is Ms. Becky coming back?” 
As the dots on her page
Won’t connect and I can’t find 
You,
 Freud, or even 
Carl Jung between 
Them or 
Me
For that matter.

 


Where also will I really be?
As Friday light fades to black
And thoughts of you,
Sabbath and all,
Pour across me like 
Overflowing wine
Not to mention the
 Jewish motherhood article you 
Lovingly slid in the
 Inbox of my soul
Only later to be taken out when 
Fatherhood gives me the
Long awaited 
Call.

Where too will I be?
 When a simple moment on a 
Simple day 
Meeting you in the hallway
Turns 
To a not so simple but hugely important
Discussion on writing and other tidbits like 
“God”
That we somehow managed to sprinkle
 Surreptitiously on our path to
Everywhere.


Where oh where will I really be?
When I can’t find the words in
 Tattered poems that
Float 
Flotsam and jetsam
In the notepad of my mind
When all I can think of is 
You
Outside some brownstone in Brooklyn
Same lean, same smile
Arms probably crossed
Hail a taxi to 
Another way station of
 Tomorrows.



Which leads me to what I really think which is, 
Where will
We be?
Ms. Becky Ann Schecter
When
 Ten years on,
Another continent, another school, 
Years 
Oozing the truth, a Lakota elder,
Face
 Grooved to perfection reminds us in 
Sioux, 
 “There is no word for goodbye.”



Jeff Troyer
December 2007

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