Notions
December 28, 2012 / Ground Time
“Our ground time here will be brief.” This is the admonitory title of a book of poetry by Maxine Kumin. Here is the poem for which the book is named:
Our Ground Time Here Will Be Brief
Blue landing lights make
nail holes in the dark.
A fine snow falls. We sit
on the tarmac taking on
the mail, quick freight,
trays of laboratory mice,
coffee and Danish for
the passengers.
Wherever we’re going
is Monday morning.
Wherever we’re coming from
is Mother’s lap.
On the cloud-packed above, strewn
as loosely as parsnip
or celery seeds, lie
the souls of the unborn:
my children’s children’s
children and their father.
We gather speed for the last run
and lift off into the weather.
--Maxine Kumin
Nobody makes more than one run. Out of a blank beginning of nothing we must form the one life we have been so absurdly given. It’s our urgent obligation to make the most of our ground time here on the little planet we twirl around on. For me, among many other things, that means I must lay my eyes on as much of it as I can. That is what “travel” means to me—I want to die having said, “Oh, look at that! Wow, look at this!” with tears of awe and joy, as many thousands of times as I can manage, until the liftoff into the weather above.