Silver-grey at sunset,
the planes wait patiently.
I come to them again
and again. I wait in
unforgiving chairs with cell-
phoned businessmen, religious
zealots loudly arguing, and
young couples with babies —
tired and smiling. I leave
so much undone: the garden
unwatered, the lunch dishes
stacked in the sink, the phone
ringing as I walk out the door,
as I run to the gate,
as I fly to meet my
blond-haired boy with heart full
and fluttering.
How many more
evenings in cold airports?
The sun sets, the plane lifts.
I remind myself —
I have always loved flying.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
April 17, 1999