Friday, January 9, 2009


Airports are sad places, my mother said then.
But now, I'm not so sure.
Alone, I lean my head against the dark outside
And watch embracing wings.

Don't know that it's sad now, so much as human.
I feel the unborn's stir.
I think of all the love, and time, and lives inside
The darkness of these things.

No place else so lonely, and so surrounded.
The darkness of the womb,
And early morning hours. Anticipation. Yes,
It's that which makes us Man

Makes mankind my being. Our life is grounded.
Transition is our home.
So here we sit who can't, for all our human-ness,
And wait for times that can.


William Michaelian said...

How strange ... I’m leaving for the airport soon to pick up my brother. I’ll be thinking about this poem while I wait.

I like the form, too. It took work, I know, but the work doesn’t show, only the sound and meaning, and the person behind them.

~im just only me~ said...

I was trying to think of what this reminded me of and I finally remembered! Elizabeth Bishop's In the waiting room... It always made me think of airports! Im always sitting there, wondering about everyone else, wondering about me... looking for someone who is reading something other than a NYT best seller... etc etc... Nice :)

John Berbrich said...

This is John Berbrich from SLAP in northern New York. I've been trying to contact you but you didn't leave an e-mail. Of course you can come in. Contact me at And I haven't been in an airport in years. :)