Loading...
Loading...
Click here if you don’t see subscription options
Mary Damon PeltierSeptember 14, 2009

You wake without your passport
in a foreign city:
jet-lagged, not sure of
the day, the time.
You have the wrong clothes,
the wrong money.
You do not know the language,
the way to go home.

On the street, people rush about,
busy, important.
They jabber over your head.
You need a bathroom,
don’t know how to ask
in this tongue.
You have to
live here now.

Comments are automatically closed two weeks after an article's initial publication. See our comments policy for more.
15 years 7 months ago
I love this poem.  It so clearly highlights the experience of an elderly person's steady decline in ability to just get through the simple parts of the day.  I can see this happening to my 89 year old mom with whom we live.  My mom was always a somewhat "spacey" person, so not all of her meaderings are attributable to age and I must confess to sometimes losing patience in my heart.  But this poem brought me back to a place of deeper respect and patience.  It's a little jewel of a poem.  Thank you!

The latest from america

The conclave that begins next Wednesday to elect a successor for Pope Francis is the first in 46 ½ years for which the Vatican hasn’t ordered a set of cassocks from the two best-known papal tailors.
Papabile: How do conclave watchers come up with their lists of the next pope—and should we trust them?
Inside the VaticanMay 01, 2025
The people of God see the bishop of Rome as a teacher, but they also unquestionably see him as a father.
J.D. Long GarcíaMay 01, 2025
Since the death of Pope Francis, lists of his possible successors have proliferated on social media and in newspapers. Should you trust them?
Colleen DulleMay 01, 2025