We are taken from our homes
I won't mind how we roam
These homes were never our homes
We are packed into airplanes
Because He called our parents
To countries foreign to them
Foreign lands, foreign nations
Get no stranger than they seem
Their otherly quality
Equal to any other
I'll let my head lay upon
The shoulder of a brother
And he'll rest his head on mine
For our journey shall last long
...or we'll use the in-flight trays.
On arrival anywhere,
Ensure your back is upright.
Keep your baggage safely stowed.
Do not unfasten your lips
'Til we have reached a complete—
We live ever on-the-go.
Growing up, we learn to love
Our travails and our travels.
The 4 AM departures,
Intercontinental flights,
The constipated plane-seats.
We can fly economy
Or via friendly Cessna.
We love exchanging our tales.
We praise who has it toughest,
'Cuz we might as well admire
What we gotta put up with.
Being much too alien,
We search for things in common
In these true stories of ours.
Taught to go the extra mile,
We've already gone thousands.
...
...
Not much in our tradition
Is not our own creation.
I enjoyed this poem -- it gave me insight into the life of a "traditionally cultural kid." You are a good poet! Your lines flowed well and included many visuals that explained a lot but not too much. (The "constipated" seats! Wow!) I had to wonder for a while what the tone of this poem was. It's not necessarily happy -- maybe accepting? Hopeful?
ReplyDeleteAnd the final two lines left me unsatisfied and wondering. It is artistically said, but yet confusing.
Great topic--you really captured the travel, almost as though the airplane is your "home" in between homes. It seems like this could be a very long poem if you added more detail, but I'd love to hear a few more specifics: places you lived, adjustments you had to make, etc. For instance, what is an example of "things in common/ in these true stories of ours"?
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