The Trip to the Airport
I awake at 3:45 in the morning,
Call to you in the dark, this
Crystal clear late January stars and cold--
We drive the 73 miles to the Akron-Canton airport
Shadows dashing in front of the car as we speed along,
Some sort of animal or a phantom of my sleepiness and fears.
An hour and a half later we enter the airport,
And after a final inventory—passport, tickets, driver’s license, colónes —
You go through the astonishing security procedures . . .
And then you are gone from my view
And my ability to protect you.
I pray to every saint who will listen:
Christopher, Francis of Assisi, Patrick, Bridget,
And to your grandparents, gone to the other side:
“Keep her Lord like the apple of your eye,
Shelter her under the shadow of your wings.”
I imagine the frantic stopover in Atlanta,
The scrambling to a new plane,
The hope that the checked backpack makes it
And think of you six miles above the Caribbean
Seeing only the vast blueness and at times specks and streaks of ships
Making their way
As you are making your way to Costa Rica, Rancho Mastatal,
Adventure, learning, new companions, new challenges--
You,
Like your Mom and me,
A bit on edge as you wonder what’s to come.
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