March 2016
I am a retired business-to-business PR and publishing professional residing in northern New Jersey with my wife and son and a shrinking menagerie of merry pets. I began writing poetry (not very well) 100 years ago as an undergraduate at Georgetown University, where I earned bachelor's and master's degrees in English Literature. My poems have appeared recently in Contemporary American Voices (I was the Featured Poet in the January 2015 issue), the Wilderness House Literary Review, Blue Monday Review, and Atavic Poetry. In 2013, I celebrated (mostly by smiling a lot) the publication of my first poetry chapbook, What Comes Next, by Finishing Line Press. A lifelong Giants fan (New York and San Francisco), I still can't believe I lived long enough to see them win three World Series in five years. If you'd like to see more of my work, please click on http://www.whlreview.com/no-9.4/poetry/JamesKeane.pdf.
Passing By
Slow and steady, the line keeps
plugging toward security, no stopping by
the statue of you two, hugging.
“If you must go, then go,” your
mouth begrudges, suddenly.
But no, you aren’t ready; his flight
means nothing
and everything to you. “OK,”
your mouth concedes, growling,
“Now you can go.” But once again,
No; your arms and tears simply won’t
let go. Though wings could take him
anywhere, then back to where
you once stood, hugging, I hope,
with plugging certainty, he
never made it through security.
Editor's Note: When I asked Jim about the inspiration for this poem, he wrote: "The poem is addressed to a young couple - more specifically to the young lady - that I couldn't help but notice as I passed by while on line at Newark Airport, headed for the security stations. They just stood there, rooted to the floor, clinging to each other. The whole time the line moved past them, they never moved from their spot. Every so often, the young woman would say something like, "OK, now you can go." But when the young man, who apparently was supposed to leave on a flight, made to go, she would grab him back and say something like "No, don't go yet." This happened more than once. They were still there in the same spot when I went through security. I ended the poem acknowledging that the wings (of an airplane) that would take him away could also bring him back to her. But if that wasn't reassuring enough for the young lady, I ended with the hope that, in the end, he never left."
Slow and steady, the line keeps
plugging toward security, no stopping by
the statue of you two, hugging.
“If you must go, then go,” your
mouth begrudges, suddenly.
But no, you aren’t ready; his flight
means nothing
and everything to you. “OK,”
your mouth concedes, growling,
“Now you can go.” But once again,
No; your arms and tears simply won’t
let go. Though wings could take him
anywhere, then back to where
you once stood, hugging, I hope,
with plugging certainty, he
never made it through security.
Editor's Note: When I asked Jim about the inspiration for this poem, he wrote: "The poem is addressed to a young couple - more specifically to the young lady - that I couldn't help but notice as I passed by while on line at Newark Airport, headed for the security stations. They just stood there, rooted to the floor, clinging to each other. The whole time the line moved past them, they never moved from their spot. Every so often, the young woman would say something like, "OK, now you can go." But when the young man, who apparently was supposed to leave on a flight, made to go, she would grab him back and say something like "No, don't go yet." This happened more than once. They were still there in the same spot when I went through security. I ended the poem acknowledging that the wings (of an airplane) that would take him away could also bring him back to her. But if that wasn't reassuring enough for the young lady, I ended with the hope that, in the end, he never left."
©2016 James Keane