Made by Hand

Airport poem


Four hours or less of sleep. At the airport. Fogged in. All flights grounded. 6 hours wait.

Had to cry for a dead friend to get the airline to transfer my ticket. Thank you friend.

Sometimes it feels like there is such a thin layer separating us from the ones who’ve gone away. Maybe that’s just my heart brain thinking, trying to make it more tolerable. They are gone. We are here. Then we are gone away.

We are all earth slips. Slivers of the universe singing names. Trying to profess love for one another while we hate ourselves. And all we really hope to do is dance the night away, sleep hard and be good one day. Kindly animals, hopeful beasts muddling thru the mud that remains from years and years of subterranean tears.

It’s too sappy. yes, but it’s early winter and I’m still mourning the sun and warm salty skin. Streaks of red in my hair deepen to a brown like the earth under ground.

3 more hours left at the airport.

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