the terminal

Posted in Uncategorized at 5:14 am by Administrator

they are waiting
two attendants, with hands clasped before them
smiling, as if in repose,
looking in our direction, but not at us.

we are seated, two seats apart,
and between us are bags
that i see in the corner of my vision.

something that looks like a woman’s bag,
and something like a backpack,
and something beneath that is too large.
they may ask us to check it in.

the light is gray, reflected off of tall windows
rising steeply at an angle, framing a darkness
that looms, more than settles.
it’s very quiet. i think we’re alone.

and that is when it stirs, only as subtle
as a single grass among other grasses
plucked like a string, just so,
by a hair of a wind

the thought, that i dare not speak,
that we are both thinking the same thing.
you might walk the other way,
not the forward way.

not past the two women, who have now receded
as if pulled back by a stretching planet
but the other way, past a glass door, and another glass door,
past a noise and a rumble and many lights

to a world beyond the rings of waiting cars,
beyond the rings of turning carousels,
all circling around this silent room,
where we look forward, listening.

you’re there. and without memory
or speech to serve me, i don’t know
where we are going or why.
i feel something, but i can’t say what it is

i sense the empty hallway before us,
that goes into a waiting craft.
they are waiting, but they will not call.
i might go, but you might not follow.

is this how it ends
without a word, without a knowing,
only the smell of this place,
a neutral smell

amidst a light that is not harsh,
a sound like a hum, a temperature
on the skin that feels like night
not yet cold, not yet?

i know that there could be words,
but to speak a word would be to say
the wrong thing, the wrong thing,
and so i must know, something.

they are waiting, i’m sure,
but i’m knowing this now.
i will not go, facing forward in my seat
for a performance that never begins.

i will not go, and sit alone,
and in the certainty of that fact
i feel a door closing,
the attendants folding upon themselves

lines bending, tensing, circling,
a shifting all around.
this is not me, it’s you,
and this is the room you are making

and it’s all i can do now,
but with my left hand, i push,
i push with all my silent might
against our things

the bags fall without sound,
and even now i do not turn
as i slide into the seat
that was between us.

and i can see now
there is no door ahead
there is no door behind
and there is no word for this,

for the leaning that i can feel,
i toward you, and you toward me,
or for the nearing, that journey,

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