I miss her

I miss her

Tiny fingers

Curled around mine

And the sounds

Of her

Growing

And changing

As she

Expands

Into the world

That has been

Waiting

For her

To arrive.

Across the globe,

With her mother,

Visiting family

And a country

That is hers

By birth

And passport.

The distance

Has been

Surreal

And difficult

To adjust to-

Even technology

Has failed

To close the gap

And seal the wound

Caused by the miles.

In a few more

Weeks

I will

Hold her

And her mother

In my arms

Once more.

Until then

I continue

To look at her

Pictures

Again and again-

Sometimes

With a smile

And sometimes

With a tear.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

February 16, 2011

Spitting truths

It never

Ceases

To amaze me

How people become experts

On everything

After a few drinks-

Spouting facts

And spitting

Truths

Through slurred

Speech,

Perched upon

Wobbly legs,

Or teetering

On bar stools.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

February 12, 2011

Whispers of love eternal

Valentine’s Day

Alone

In a hotel-

Eating

Alone

And toasting no one.

No kisses,

No hugs,

No wishes

To be fulfilled

With arms wrapped around me

And whispers

Of love

Eternal.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

February 14, 2011

 

another hotel bar

Another

Hotel bar

In

Another city,

Again.

Another

Beer,

Alone-

Again.

Away

From home

And family,

Again.

Observing

Humanity

And the animals

We are-

The beasts

Of habit

And ritual

We have become

Over millenia

Of living

And surviving-

Somehow.

The more

Difference,

The greater

The distance,

The less

Things change.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

February 10, 2011

softer than a dream

Her skin

Beneath

My fingertips-

Soft,

Supple,

Gently trembling.

Her breath

Against my neck-

Short,

Rapid,

Panting excitedly.

Her lips

Against mine-

Sweeter

And softer

Than a dream.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 21, 2011

somebody within us

Hotel bar

With a few

Lingering

Drinkers,

With just a few

Too many

In their bloodstream-

Dissolving

Their livers

As well as

Their usual limitations

And sensibilities.

The awkward

Stumbling

Of slurred

Speech

And movements,

Creates

A messy ballet

Of dueling

Desire

And reason.

It’s such a play

Of humanity-

To shed

The normal routine

Of life

And replace it

With this other

Self

Who is not

Us,

But who

Is

Somebody

Within us.

The distance

Created

By the drinks

And the miles

From our regular

Existence

Puts us closer

To that person

Who is not us,

But who is.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 20, 2011

 

drinkers with expense accounts

Another

Hotel bar

Filled

With transient

Drinkers

With expense accounts

And long days

Of meetings

And business

Behind them-

Unaware of their ritual

Behaviors.

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 19, 2011

Movement to somewhere else

Muffled

Tippety-taps

Of laptop keyboards

Drift through

The cabin noise

And my pressurized ears.

My exit row seat

Does not “recline”

So my attempts

At rest

Are held hostage

By the fully upright

Position

And the occasional

Impact

Of the beverage cart

Or elbow

Of wobbly passengers.

Bleary eyes

And weary faces

Stare blankly ahead

Or into computer screens.

Crumpled suits

And dress shirts

With coffee stains

Blend into the enclosed scenery.

Soldiers,

Returning and departing,

Sit uncomfortably

In their uniforms-

Some nervously

Imagining

“Over there”.

Young mothers with children

Try to distract

Tired babies

With popping ears

And keep them

From crying.

As our destination

Approaches,

The sound of zippers

Opening

Fills the air

As personal belongings

Are once again

Stowed,

In preparation for landing.

Trash is collected,

Seatbacks returned

To upright positions

And tray tables

Are locked closed

Once more.

We’ll be there

Soon

And the overhead bins

Will pop open

As bags are retrieved

For the next phase

Of our movement

To somewhere else.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 19, 2011

Once again without me

My wife

And infant daughter

Are

Half a world

Away,

In Taiwan

With family.

My older daughter

Is at home

With her mother,

Gliding

Through her daily routine.

And I am,

Once again,

Strapped into my seat,

With my seatbelt

Low and tight

Across my waist

Several thousand feet

Above the ground

And between

Destinations.

Thoughts fly

Between worlds

And worries,

As I settle into

The impermanent

And the transitory.

Soon I’ll be

Shaking hands

And forgetting names

Of people

I’ll never see again,

While the ones filling my thoughts

Go about their day

Once again

Without me.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 19, 2011

The familiar sleepwalk

Once again

Sealed in a plane

At 30,00 feet

Above the earth,

Leaving my family

As I travel

For work.

The familiar

Sleepwalk

Through the early morning

Airport obstacle course,

Filled with

The sleeping

And partially awake,

As we all

Lurched

To our gates

And waiting aircraft.

Each of us

Shuffling

Or running

To a place

Beyond

The terminal

And gates.

In just a few

More days

I’ll repeat

The entire process,

But with a late night

Arrival

At home

And a quiet

Entry

Back into

My sleeping

Family’s lives

And my

Warm and welcoming

Bed.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 29, 2010