Submitted by Ana Maria Caballero
Babies on Planes
When I am on a plane
and I hear a baby begin to cry,
I think: cry, cry, cry.
Cry slower and louder.
Cry while your mother walks you around
so that the entire plane can hear you cry.
Stop crying, whimper softly,
make us think you are done,
When the flight attendant offers help that is not help
– Can I bring some water? –
answer back with a wail.
Howl the flight attendant away.
Make your mother give up,
display her shabby grin
and press deep into her seat.
Cry right into my ear.
Cry right into the immigration line.
Cry right into the wait for the bags
that are not there and they don’t come and still
they do not come.
Let me hear you screech into the airport curb
and whimper in your car.
When you are gone, keep the ringing faint,
but keep it real, keep it long.
Scream baby, baby.
Rack up my airplane baby miles
for the airplane baby day
when my baby decides to cry.
Watching you pee in front of me while we talk about not being late
It’s true we shouldn’t be late to things
I try to remember when we began peeing and talking
In front of each other
I wish I could remember
I would tell you
I wish I had to pee
So that I could test you and see if you look
See if you question
What I am about to say
Which is basically
Everyone already expects us to be late
So maybe we altogether just stopped being late
Tragedy at Sushi Siam
Today I read about poetic time and poetic space,
about how allegories are imagined and metrics not.
I read about real efforts to compose,
allusions, footnotes, tool sheds as help.
I read all this believing in it,
not knowing that tonight you would be where I was,
and I would need to come home to think about you
in recent time, in recent space.
Here is a brief bio:
Ana Maria Caballero currently lives in Bogotá, Colombia with her husband and nine-month-old son. During her son’s naps, she created a blog – www.thedrugstorenotebook.co/– where she shares her poems and love of literature.