At the Airport

By Jennifer Ferraro

Each one of us on route to somewhere sits in strange stasis,
each one separate
from the next, on route to some home where we are loved by
some someone.
From the faces you can see just who wants from life the usual things,
who will laugh
at certain jokes, who is intelligent or depressed or especially loving.
But then
each one is loving sometimes, is loved in their safe nest—
each somber face
unknown, guarded, anonymous will soon break open its
humanity
like a flower in the deep night, when it feels safe again to flower
when it is home.