Tuesday, June 13, 2023
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FLIGHT PATHS
By Jared Curtis
Between towers and trees,
along the path of least resistance,
sea gulls fly by my window
when the east wind is up.
On a straight line above the avenue,
from lake to hilltop, they will turn
and on a tailwind sweep,
to bay below where tide is out,
to search for food, scrapping over what they find
among the rocks and in the mud.
Now wind is still, gulls busy at their meal,
and I am left to contemplate a memory,
slowly growing more distinct, and
prompted by a photograph of three brothers,
each at the time in his seventies,
each of whom followed his own trail
to a different bay.
We are standing side-by-side
in a quiet square of the big city,
among Manhattan’s avenues and towers,
almost exactly ten years since.
Having flown there from the left coast,
I am there to give a talk,
they are there to listen,
each traveling by train
from homes in states nearby
for a reunion all too rare.
We shared a meal,
a lively conversation,
and much laughter
but did not seem to notice
what widely different paths
we’ve taken
since we were boys,
what challenges met,
what partings,
what gains, or losses,
what pains and joys
each journey brought upon us.
So it is with families,
drifting apart for a time,
then back, picking up
where we left off
without a beat missed,
tales told and retold,
no one calling out
the repetition,
and then away again
to carry on our separate lives
that time has granted us—
yet bonded still
by memory and love.
©Jared Curtis
