NEW YEAR
The man who photographed
the very first plane to hit
air was using a camera
for the very first time.
The Wright brothers never
married. Wilbur once said
he did not have time for both
a wife and an airplane.
I could put a husband,
a wife, or daughter in this poem.
You might think someone
is waiting for me to come
back home.
I spent the first day
of this new year
in Antigua, Guatemala, queasy.
I watched firecrackers
explode near my feet,
paper lanterns rising
toward sky.
At the end of the day,
I walked through
Antigua alone, saw a horde
of people in black. A funeral
march. The mourners held
photos, and flowers, crosses,
and signs. Slowly, they walked
through the streets.
—from Rattle #42, Winter 2013
__________
Lindsay Tigue: “I wrote ‘New Year’ last year after a trip to Guatemala with a friend. While in Antigua, on New Year’s Day, we were supposed to go on a volcano tour, but I wasn’t feeling well and stayed back at the hostel. While my friend was gone, I wandered the streets of Antigua alone and came upon a funeral procession. I read and write poetry because of these moments that allow me to share in a more beautiful loneliness.”
lindsaytigue.wordpress.com
