Connecting Flight




I heard that you missed your connecting flight

Stranded in a third-world airport, right around midnight

Five hundred miles away from home, from me

Surrounded by strangers in the hundreds

Hooked to the phones, calling their family

They slept on their luggage, on the floor, in the hallways

Brushing teeth at the water cooler; dry, without paste

And their gums would bleed

And their spit would thicken

And their breath, a hint of chlorine mixed with caffeine

Lovers hugged each other more than they normally would

A hurricane had just swept away all hints of romance

And replaced it with anxiety, (no more honeymoon)

Blanketed with airline bribes of salty crackers and face towelettes

Shivering in the cold

Coughing out their soul

Refugees in tired bodies, a desperate silhouette

Looking lost and alone in a barren administrative office complex

Lullabied by the soothing sounds of robotic public announcements

Calling for late passengers, camping in the toilet.


Calm down, my dear

Calm down

And lie down next to me

As I lie down next to you

Where do you intend to go tonight,

Now that you have missed your flight?


You say you wanted to have a Travel Channel life

A globe-trotting Samantha Brown, a fashionista

A joy-riding Megan McCormick, adventure diva

Sleep in different hotels every night, and eat breakfast for free

Get yourself lost in alleyways, from shopping or sightseeing

Meet young people with exotic blue eyes, accents so sexy

And talk about their culture, history, and living life carefree

Eat new food, taste new flavors, brag like Tony Bourdain

Lounge at Le Fouquet's cafe, gossip like a prom queen

Wear gowns and go ballroom dancing in crystal bridal shoes

Wear your hair like a tiara and let the cool breeze blow through

As you race across the white sandy beach on a rented jeep

Or float high above the seas in a fixed glider, soaring in glee.


You say you prefer getting stranded, and not have to return

To a job that slowly kills you

To a town you'd rather burn

To a lifestyle of the living dead, (and so - naturally you fled)


You say there is life outside of work and outside of worrying

But you always fail to hide the subtle glint of panic in your eyes

That you might not find what you are looking for

That you might lose what you have and gain no more.


You say you wanted to find you true self, still

That there is a calling for you, and you have not found it

That happiness cannot come without life's purpose

And it cannot be substituted with hugs and kisses

You say you would push back time as far back as you could

You would postpone your life and live your youth as it should

While you continue to search, high and low

In the kindness of strangers

In the reflection on stained glass windows.


(A life in transit)


Is it too soon to ask

Is it too soon to say

How long will this last

How long will you stay

Are you ready to settle down

Are you willing to start anew

How do you feel

Why can't you say


Sometimes I wonder if you are mythologizing me, like I do you

Like how you appear in every love song that I sing

In every dream that I dream, late at night and in broad daylight

To need someone like I do you, it's so embarassing.


I will be waiting in the Arrival Hall, right in front of the escalator

As you slowly glide down from the high clouds of your dreams

Your luggage in tow

Your smile would show

That there is a familiar face down below

Waiting

He has a ring, and he is eager to know.

Author's notes - This is what happens when you stop writing for 3 months. Rusty, and cliched.

A work in progress. I'll come back later to fix it here and there.

Written over a hungry Sunday.

I am sorry if this post gives you a raging boner during Ramadhan.

This is free-standing prose, a stream of consciousness type.