Traveling Light

Linda Pastan

 
I'm only leaving you
for a handful of days,
but it feels as though
I'll be gone forever—
the way the door closes
behind me with such solidity,
the way my suitcase
carries everything
I'd need for an eternity
of traveling light.
I've left my hotel number
on your desk, instructions
about the dog
and heating dinner. But
like the weather front
they warn is on its way
with its switchblades
of wind and ice,
our lives have minds
of their own.
 
From Traveling Light, published by W.W. Norton. Copyright © 2011 by Linda Pastan. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

Poems by This Author

I Married You by Linda Pastan
I married you
In the Happo-En Garden, Tokyo by Linda Pastan
The way a birthmark
The Cossacks by Linda Pastan
For Jews, the Cossacks are always coming.
Vertical by Linda Pastan
Perhaps the purpose


Further Reading

Poems about Travel
Don’t Let Me Be Lonely [On the bus two women argue]
by Claudia Rankine
And the Trains Go On
by Philip Levine
Baudelaire in Airports
by Amy King
California Plush
by Frank Bidart
Cattails
by Nikky Finney
Dark Matter
by Jack Myers
Evening Song
by Sherwood Anderson
Flying
by Sarah Arvio
Go Greyhound
by Bob Hicok
I am Raftery the Poet
by Anthony Raftery
Looking for The Gulf Motel
by Richard Blanco
Manifest Destiny
by Cynthia Lowen
Out-of-the-Body Travel
by Stanley Plumly
Passing Through Albuquerque
by John Balaban
Road Warriors
by Charles Wright
Slow Waltz Through Inflatable Landscape
by Christian Hawkey
Souvenir from Anywhere
by Harryette Mullen
The Bus through Jonesboro, Arkansas
by Matthew Henriksen
The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes
The Strange Hours Travelers Keep
by August Kleinzahler
The Tinajera Notebook
by Forrest Gander
The Traveling Onion
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Travel
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Travel
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Traveling
by Malena Mörling
Trip Hop
by Geoffrey Brock
Window
by Carl Sandburg
Window Seat: Providence to New York City
by Jacqueline Osherow