Departure

I see you standing, there at the Qantas jet. 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.