The Arrival
Luggage first, the lining of his suit jacket dangling
As always, just when you’d given up hope
Nimbly he backs out of the taxi
Eyes nervously extending, like brave crabs
Everywhere at once, keeping track of his papers
He pilots himself into the home berth
Like a small tug in a cloud of seagulls
Worries flutter around him so thick
It takes him some time to arrive
And you wonder if he’s ever really been happy:
When the blue eyes blur
And stare out to sea
Whether it’s only a daydream
Or a long pain that silences him
In such gray distances
You’ll never know, but now
Turning to you, the delicate mouth
Like a magician
Is curious, sensitive, playing tricks,
Pouting like a wise turtle
It seems he has a secret
With the driver,
With the stewardess on the airplane
So that even when he opens his arms
When the warm voice surrounds you,
Wraps you in rough bliss,
Just before you go under
Suddenly you remember:
The beloved does not come
From nowhere: out of himself, alone
Often he comes slowly, carefully
After a long taxi ride
Past many beautiful men and women
And many dead bodies,
Mysterious and important companions.
Copyright Credit: Patricia Goedicke, "The Arrival" from Crossing the Same River. Copyright © 1980 by Patricia Goedicke. Reprinted by permission of The University of Massachusetts Press.
Source: Crossing the Same River (University of Massachusetts Press, 1980)