Didn’t know
I was the most comfortable
inside the turbulence
sometimes caused by clouds.
A stranger in the aisle seat,
his head in his hands.
The smell of coffee,
brewing near the cockpit
of the airplane.
I’d never order one
but I like when someone else does.
Which reminds me
of my hands around a hot cup
and how I’ve never minded
secondhand smoke
even as someone
who never lit up.
Maybe both of those things
remind me of my Grandmom Gert.
Why is it
when you’re somewhere
that could be considered
a lonely place,
the sadness of it
feels strangely like home?
All the waiting and watching
and not quite belonging,
as I reread the same sentence
in a book I hoped to finish.
Things start to feel
like that coffee scent
hanging in the air,
where flight attendants
stand on tip-toes
in the soft clatter of their jobs,
until they too
can wait and watch.
(Daily Writing 072)
Thoughts?