Next day it will be landing
as if we’d never met.
A cold November gust
expands your summer coat.
And yes, Mother, I must,
I could not go by boat.
You’re worried about flying,
remembering the war,
the many mothers crying,
the word from distant shore.
And yet, you’re smiling now,
a smile without the tears,
the stoic German Frau
is not what she appears.
So many people board,
your eyes assume command,
a noisy, silly horde
off to a promised land.
The wind combines with ice,
My gesture ‘go inside’,
a parting son’s advice,
a mother’s love and pride.
I see your hair, dark brown,
your summer coat, so gray.
Upon your face a frown…
but Mother, I can’t stay!
II
The engines revv, a thud is felt
my breath forms cabin dew
upon the window crystals melt,
they’ve gone, except for you.
I felt your arms, the boyant lift,
the pilot must have known,
and soon above the clouds adrift
was I, who’d never flown.
I swear I saw you from up high,
still standing there so tall.
I knew that you would never cry
until you took my call.
Remember what you said back then?
I rang you from a box,
you said be sure to write me when
I need to mend your socks.
III
When thirteen years had puffed away
you’d changed, and even cried.
‘Twas me who knew not what to say,
I showed you my new bride.
You stood there, with your summer coat,
your hair, now pewter gray
and told us all about the boat
that sank in Hamburg Bay.
A wind picked up, as cold as ice,
five children grabbed their Oma.
Inside they went, those little guys,
I smelled Tshibo aroma.
You could, for twenty lousy cents
drink coffee, rich with cream.
At last, inside the trusty Benz
the sequel to a dream.