terminal waiting...

I actually like
being on the
road...
anonymous,
unknown,
mysterious

I could be
no one...
or anyone

I like the
hope
of 
making a connection -
eye contact,
a smile,
a shared compassion for
mothers with children -
a connection with someone
whose name
I do not
know

to connect,
not because of shared history,
geography,
religion,
career,
or alma mater...
but because of our
common hopes,
conmmon desires,
common humanity...

we all want to be loved
we all want to
make a difference in this
great wide world
we all want to know that
our time isn't wasted and that
our lives are not lived in vain

there is a  woman sitting next
to me
we share

long, white hair
but she
is not afraid of being
too
"you're so weird, mom"
to her teenage daughters
so
she wears
whimsical red glasses
handpainted with
spirals and stars along
the temples,
she
only needs them for reading the
New York Times
but I like the
way she
lets them
perch on the tip of her
nose like
a circus acrobat
balancing on
a ball,
balancing on
a tightrope

I notice that she, too,
reads the sections she loves most...
last.
She is
saving the Book Review
like a savoured
dessert.
I would like to know her,
but the headphones she
wears
while she reads
tell me that
she and I are different in this
one thing...
I am interested in hearing
us laugh together
heads bent in
conspiratorial
discovery
"you do...me too"
she is not

the men along the window
have found eachother
like moths in
the gathering twilight
on a summer's
evening

they are all headed
somewhere important -
offices,
board rooms,
conference centers -
but they don't
waste time
telling eachother about the
meetings and
sales calls that will
absorb them
over the next few days

the terminal is 
corporate-free zone
this morning
they talk of
sports, fishing and lawn fertilizers...
the shiny peppers
and fresh goat cheese at the farmer's
market on Saturday mornings
and the last episode of This Old House

anything but
The New York Times
and the
stock market

I like the couple sitting near the gate
she holds his water bottle
and the bagel they are
sharing before they pre-board
his wheelchair is draped with
her floral tote and
his parka
his lap piled high with
her scarf and their travel pillows
but you can tell that
she once sat in his lap
her arms draped around his neck
her kisses landing on the
neck that now
wear an oxygen mask...

they make me smile
I want to
grow together
like that
someone to hold my
hand
and my quilted
floral tote

I am an observer

I like to sit
here 
not knowing anyone
and yet
knowing
enough to
smile
in spiritual
fellowship...
what lives within
us is more
alike than
we
ever
really
know