Where Will We Be? (One For Ms. Becky)

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