Row 6

[brynmawr1]

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     a

as she sits happily by my side.    such as mine

Perhaps he sees another, never realised.

 

In his heavy mouth, I see     no comma

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       These lines need to be more ironic, otherwise it comes across as trite in the face of such struggle.

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.]
[/quote]
Hi Trevor,
I agree with the comments of the previous.  I've added some of my own but the main thing I would add is that the poem, while very nice, would be more poignant if the person in row 6 turned out to be the narrator imagining himself as another.  It might better convey the longing/loss of a want-to-be parent and the anguish.  I considered that was your intent but there are too many mixed messages.   That said, I agree the last stanza can go.
Welcome,
bryn