Airports

Tray tables up. Seat backs in the upright and locked position. Wheels meet tarmac and our metal ship finds her port. There is the mass unbuckling of seat belts, and the frenzied jostling of carry on luggage. I swing my pack over my arm, and slide my shoulder blades back and down my spine.

Here we go.

I am a caged animal, pacing toward baggage claim under fluorescent lights. I am all legs and hips, born for the sharp click of boot heels, driven mercilessly into buffed linoleum. I am fire and water, carbon and sweat, winding my way through glassy-eyed strangers.

This morning, the wild sea wind ripped across my face, leaving its salt breath on my lips. I stood on a wooden dock then, looking out at the dark waves beyond a Caribbean reef. Frigate birds cut through the sky, their knife-blade wings more reptilian than avian.

And I am a reptile too. Head reared and nostrils flared, in this hell we call an airport. But in this cage- in this stifling, infuriating place- I ignite with the passion for escape. Here, lost in the crush of the hoard, my conscious mind drowns in the roar of my soul ablaze.