Row 6

[TrevorConway]

Row 6

[Edit]

Our third plane trip together,
my daughter bends across her seat,
fascinated by fields below,
a stained-glass terrain
of browns, greens and yellows.

I’m more aware of the man in row 6
with black hair and grey streaks like thin cloud.
He’s been watching us with eyes
that seem, to me, glazed in some sad thought.
He could be dreaming of sitting here,
his own daughter by his side.

I imagine he remembers
a love that saw its end in talk
of children and their absence,
of wanting and not wanting, being stuck between.
I want to tell him, Don’t regret
that you’ll never suffer dark moods
from mangled sleep, nights blent
into mornings and watercolour weeks.

As if on cue,
my daughter whips up a storm of whining
over a broken pencil.
The food trolley approaches,
and I pay for a pleasant reprieve,
closing my eyes to savour it.

When they open, he’s still there,
casting a glance as she kisses me,
plucking her spoils from a bag of Maltesers.
Be happy with who you are, I tell him,
imagining myself in his seat:
row 6, by the window,
without anyone to attend to.


Row 6

[Original]

Our third plane trip together,

my daughter is fascinated by fields

miles below, a stained-glass patchwork

of various greens and yellows.

I’m more aware of the man in row 6

with black hair and a grey streak like thin cloud.

 

He’s been watching us, his eyes

glazed in naked thought,

dreaming of my daughter

as she sits happily by my side.

Perhaps he sees another, never realised.

 

In his heavy mouth, I see

a love that saw its end in talk

of children and their absence.

Don’t regret, I tell him,

that you’ll never suffer the dark moods

of mangled sleep, nights blent

into mornings and watercolour weeks.

 

He’ll never hear me,

but, as if on cue,

my daughter whips up a storm of whining.

The trolley approaches,

shaped more like an apartment block,

all manner of sweet souls ready to jump off.

 

He watches still

as she kisses me,

plucking her spoils from a bag of Maltesers.

Be happy with who you are, I tell him,

and I imagine myself in his seat:

row 6, by the window,

without anyone to attend to.

 

How sad to imagine,

as I am me,

and my daughter is by my side,

just how it should be.



[I think the last verse should be deleted. What do ye think? Thanks for any feedback ye can give.]