on the plane

when they make their way toward me at seat 32A

it is the old woman who smiles at me first

her wrinkled eyes crinkling under her mask

the old man sits next to me and she in the aisle

and we don’t speak

they’re sweet, easy airplane row neighbors

closed eyes

passed handkerchiefs

as we land I look over

and see their clasped hands

i suddenly feel warm



but special because i got to witness

their live

their protection

their shared history marked by blue veins and liver spots

saggy skin

glistening rings

two simple bands

and then i think about you

how our short history, though long-feeling, pales in comparison

but how bright life is

spending it with you

how special it is to know

that we will one day board a plane

and clasp wrinkly hands when we are about

to land

when we finally get home.


when springtime comes

i am five again

running around my yard squealing at the buds

as they poke their sleepy heads

from the still-cold ground

ready for their second chance.

i read an anne bradstreet poem

in college

where she envies the spring.

she acknowledges, in awe,

that the trees have a chance for rejuvenation

the flower’s encore,

life begets life.

i understand her envy now.

nature always gets that second chance

the time for regrowth

but what about us?

and then i remember the new england winters

my tear-stained cheeks

hugging my knees wishing for sun and warmth


bradstreet and i were alike in many ways


scared of the winter

writing poetry in a soft light among snoring creatures

our pens scratching paper

our minds unable to rest.

wishing we too could rise again

from the dusty soil

squinting in the sunlight

ready to stretch our roots.

but that’s why we have spring

it’s here for you and me

to brush off the wet snow

turn our faces to the sun

and drink, drink, drink

we all can start anew.