Monday, January 31, 2011

Wherever We Travel by Linda Pastan






Wherever We Travel
Wherever we travel
it seems to take the same
few hours to get there.
The plane rises over clouds
into an unmarked sky,
comes down through clouds
to what we have to believe
is a different place. But here
are the same green road signs
the numbered highways
of home, with cars going
back and forth to houses
with chimneys and windows
identical to the ones we thought
we had left behind.
The radio blares familiar
radio music. Soon we will knock
on a door and someone will greet us,
will pull us into a room
we have never seen
but already know by heart.




"Wherever We Travel," by Linda Pastan from The Last Uncle(W.W. Norton).

2 comments:

  1. Love Linda Pastan. Thanks, Susan, for introducing me to this great poem.

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  2. Thanks, Drew! Life is so crazy at the moment that all I can do is post favorite poems on themes. Glad you're enjoying!

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