What is it about an airport,
that everyone’s soul shines through?
I see it through the little holes in their socks,
and their bare feet at security.
Who doesn’t think to wear socks on airport day?
I see it through their sweet voices,
explaining to their five-year-old,
why must we go through this security line –
“to check if anyone has snakes or spiders in their bags, dear”
I can see a world in which that is why we must all bare our feet
for TSA to peek through our shoes
and find our secrets.
I can see the soul in the woman whom I’m begging
to switch my middle seat to an aisle seat,
I see her long day, her long future,
I’m tired, but so is she, and I am not the first, nor the last, to beg her for something that is not in her control.
I see the soul in the man who sits beside me,
who talks about the old days
when corporate airlines didn’t charge for hot meals
I smile at him and I reach out to buy some headphones because I’m not doing this middle seat flight solo.
What is it about airports?
They say airports are a no-mans-land, no country can claim it, and perhaps that’s what it is.
None of us are home, yet none of us are lost, we are all in between the beginning and end of a journey.
And we’re in our socks.
For some of us, it’s bare feet.
And we all hope there are no snakes in someone else’s bag.