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Stuckness
August 4, 2014
Airports are poetic places,
so full of
possibility.
I might have a
ticket to Italy,
but I could go
to Japan
if the spirit moves me.
I am taunted by
departure signs,
they whisper dreams
I scrawled in
chicken-scratch
when I was ten.
There are people kissing
here,
normally accompanied by
a few tears.
But I crack a smile
because I can feel
through
this worn jeans pocket
that my wallet empty
and alone.
So I guess for a while
I will just stay
here.
© Jordan L., Wichita, KS
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