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Missed Boat

I read this beautiful Naomi Shihab Nye piece one morning while getting ready for work - it was the Paris Review daily poem that day. It was hard to forget the words on the impact it had on me within the few minutes that it took to read. The words came back over and over during busy times of day, doing things very far removed from poetry reading

Missing The Boat

It is not so much that the boat passed
and you failed to notice it.
It is more like the boat stopped
directly outside your bedroom window,
the captain blowing the signal-horn,
the band playing a rousing march.

The boat shouted, waving bright flags,
its silver hull blinding in the sunlight.

But you had this idea you were going by train.
You kept checking the time-table,
digging for tracks.
And the boat got tired of you,
so tired it pulled up the anchor
and raised the ramp.

The boat bobbed into the distance,
shrinking like a toy—
at which point you probably realized
you had always loved the sea.

I too had this idea that I was going by train and I wasted most of my life making sure I was good and ready to board that train. So afraid was I to miss this train that I showed up to the station the night before and dozed on the bench, checking the time every fifteen minutes so it would not leave me behind. The train was many hours late, I lost sleep in vain. It was very far from the ride I imagined it would be. The scenery was not much to look at, the company dull and it took way longer than expected to reach the destination which was quite unremarkable. But decades had passed and I was where I was. The boat was long gone and never came to look for me again. As I read and read again, I had to wonder if the poet could make every reader feel like these words spoke exactly to their lives - just as she had done for me. 

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