My first time on an airplane, my head blocked the window for my elderly seatmate, I was that transfixed.
I told the old man my cousin’s wedding was in Monterrey, and learned he was coming home for his brother’s funeral.
La vida es divertida, he said.
Serendipity is bred in this setting to a confluence of stories
Crowds of questers cut off from social reality.
Drinking in the morning, brushing teeth beside one another.
Uniquely bored and free enough to get to know one another.
Any airport is more alike another than the city outside its walls. Closer, paradoxically.
Smiling, straight-backed stewardesses sell us a century-old American future.
My first time traveling alone, my flight was delayed for a military memorial.
A soldier slept underneath my cabin, flying home to his mother just like I was.
I think of the romance of flight, da Vinci, and brothers Wright
Could they have guessed we would divide the sky, too, by class?
First, business and economy—as above, so below.
Winged men make conference calls and watch the birds trapped under ceilings high like cathedrals.