But I Missed YouI woke up from a dream
having an intimate talk with you.
I was remembering the past, the good stuff
"But I missed you," I kept repeating.
Who did I miss? You were usually around,
A lukewarm presence recounting movie plots
Or repeating Army stories, or giving me reassuring
talks about how everything would turn out fine
But I missed you! I wanted your tears,
Your recognition of me, the individual, instead
of me, symbol of all women, whom you saw as all alike.
I missed you with warts, the frail human being
you kept hidden and perhaps still do.
I wish I could have known how to say all this
back then.
I pulled that poem out of an old notebook. One nice thing about doing this blog is that I end up searching through old sketchbooks and revisiting some past feelings. But now let me talk about the present. My two weeks of vacation from school are drawing to a close, and I wanted to tell you about how it was getting back from Georgia to Boston right after the blizzard. My plane was delayed for two days. I finally drove the hour and a half to Atlanta on Monday, hoping to catch a flight that Delta confirmed me on three hours before it was to fly. Of course, the airport was jammed when I got there, and there was no hope of getting on; I couldn't even get through check-in. So I did stand-by for three flights and got on, much to my joy and amazement, by 3 p.m. By then I'd made friends with a bunch of people--all 100 of us--waiting on stand-by. I sat next to a philosophy professor on the flight up, in which the entire plane full of people was ecstatic, and we talked about Buddhism and the Middle East. He was on his way to Boston to interview for a position in Cairo. It was the most fun I've had in a long time. People do well in calamities, and I was happy that most of us didn't shit on the poor the Delta agents who had to contend with our impatience and frayed nerves. They didn't make it snow.
I pulled that poem out of an old notebook. One nice thing about doing this blog is that I end up searching through old sketchbooks and revisiting some past feelings. But now let me talk about the present. My two weeks of vacation from school are drawing to a close, and I wanted to tell you about how it was getting back from Georgia to Boston right after the blizzard. My plane was delayed for two days. I finally drove the hour and a half to Atlanta on Monday, hoping to catch a flight that Delta confirmed me on three hours before it was to fly. Of course, the airport was jammed when I got there, and there was no hope of getting on; I couldn't even get through check-in. So I did stand-by for three flights and got on, much to my joy and amazement, by 3 p.m. By then I'd made friends with a bunch of people--all 100 of us--waiting on stand-by. I sat next to a philosophy professor on the flight up, in which the entire plane full of people was ecstatic, and we talked about Buddhism and the Middle East. He was on his way to Boston to interview for a position in Cairo. It was the most fun I've had in a long time. People do well in calamities, and I was happy that most of us didn't shit on the poor the Delta agents who had to contend with our impatience and frayed nerves. They didn't make it snow.
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