A Poem for the Soul

Vacation
by Rita Dove
I love the hour before takeoff, that stretch of no time,  no home but the gray vinyl seats linked like unfolding paper dolls.  Soon we shall be summoned to the gate, soon enough there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers  and perforated stubs—but for now I can look at these ragtag nuclear families with their cooing and bickering  or the heeled bachelorette trying to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s exhausted mother waiting to be called up early while the athlete, one monstrous hand asleep on his duffel bag, listens, perched like a seal trained for the plunge.  Even the lone executive who has wandered this far into summer  with his lasered itinerary, briefcase knocking his knees—even he  has worked for the pleasure of bearing  no more than a scrap of himself  into this hall. He’ll dine out, she’ll sleep late,  they’ll let the sun burn them happy all morning  —a little hope, a little whimsy  before the loudspeaker blurts  and we leap up to become  Flight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.

Both witty and truthful, this poem is one for the aware. I love it because when I am at an airport, I too think of the people; where they are going and what they act like always runs through my mind. It's a lot of fun, almost like playing a game with myself. Ms. Dove captures the essence of the human mind during a usually mundane situation. Vacation reminds us of the waiting before we can go and have fun and reminds us that everyone has somewhere to go and something to accomplish.