Jet Lag

Jet Lag

There are so many selves these days,
living in many places at once.

When we travel, we leave a self back
at home, to remind us what we

would be doing if we wouldn't have left.
The traveling self receives

the thoughts of the one at home, as if
over a baby monitor,

feels unstuck from time. Yesterday,
I answered the phone

and spoke to Kathy. Sorry, who is
this, I asked, and she

said, Kathy, your across-the-hall
neighbor in number 4.

Not neighbor, actually, not for a year,
and a couple thousand miles

away, several states. It’s easy to
forget where here is,

when now is. In my Twitter feed,
hundreds of people

who live in places I have left, telling
me about the clouds

and mild temperatures, and out the
window here, clouds,

no snow. The town you return to is
only partially the place

itself. Your memory sketches over
it, like architectural plans

in reverse. It is still what it used to
be to you, every version.

Thursday, January 15, 2009: On the Street…Navy and Green, Florence

Disoriented passengers leave
The tepid airport, struggle down the metal stairs
And step onto the tarmac. The cold air,
Sharp lights are overwhelming. The travelers are relieved

To see a man with headphones (earmuffs?) shepherd
Them toward the plane. Here it is, their vehicle.
They lurch and stoop at the entrance, the pace a trickle,
And slump into seats, sighing inside the metal bird.