Chicago to…

Chicago to Melbourne

It's always Christmas at the airport.
Beneath you spreads a coruscation
of guiding lights,
red and green and gold,
falling away as you rise
replaced by the city, blueprinted
in patterned white.

Anxiety falls away as well,
the clutching of scraps of paper --
still, in this digital age, we hold tightly
to our snippets of paper -- passport, visa,
boarding pass. Forget them now.

You are safely on the plane,
and though it may bump and jump,
you are safer than you were
on the ground. Climb through
the cloud layer. The lights disappear.

You leave the land
far behind, the lights of home fires
electrified. You soar over the great
waters, with darkness below and above.
You are small, cradled in this miraculous
flying ship. You are missing
the lights of home, the fragile beating hearts
of your children, the warmth of their arms.

Here is a blanket, a pillow.
Close your eyes and try to rest.
The lights will return; for now,
embrace the greater darkness.


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