Lillian Bassman

Meeting at an Airport

BY TAHA MUHAMMAD ALI

You asked me once,

on our way back

from the midmorning

trip to the spring:

“What do you hate,

and who do you love?”

And I answered,

from behind the eyelashes

of my surprise,

my blood rushing

like the shadow

cast by a cloud of starlings:

“I hate departure . . .

I love the spring

and the path to the spring,

and I worship the middle

hours of morning.”

And you laughed . . .

and the almond tree blossomed

and the thicket grew loud with nightingales.

. . . A question

now four decades old:

I salute that question’s answer;

and an answer

as old as your departure;

I salute that answer’s question . . .

And today,

it’s preposterous,

here we are at a friendly airport

by the slimmest of chances,

and we meet.

Ah, Lord!

we meet.

And here you are

asking—again,

it’s absolutely preposterous—

I recognized you

but you didn’t recognize me.

“Is it you?!”

But you wouldn’t believe it.

And suddenly

you burst out and asked:

“If you’re really you,

What do you hate

and who do you love?!”

And I answered—

my blood

fleeing the hall,

rushing in me

like the shadow

cast by a cloud of starlings:

“I hate departure,

and I love the spring,

and the path to the spring,

and I worship the middle

hours of morning.”

And you wept,

and flowers bowed their heads,

and doves in the silk of their sorrow stumbled.

Taha Muhammah Ali, “Meeting at an Airport” from So What. Copyright © 2006 by Taha Muhammah Ali. Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press.


Source: So What (Copper Canyon Press, 2006)