Delta Blues

Where are you right now? he writes from the terminal next door. We divvy up moving walkways and meet in the middle, unexpected moments like a gift, and we run through all the things to say before boarding announcements ring out across the carpeted corridors. Is it too early to start drinking, he says as you leave him, and everything is easier with the laughter. Anxiously spend moments calculating connection times and passengers ahead, try to remember the feeling of home in your bones, what it is you return to. Last night, under the starry skies, I thought of shards of glass we keep tucked under our skin. How even when the years have helped us heal around them, they still lie there, chafing, exerting their power over our every move. I asked the stars, what is my shard of glass?, and they, as they always do, remained silent. What did it matter? We all know our pain, we all know that dark place within us that can only soften with the years, never leave. I thought I am forever homeless, and went back inside to pack my bags. I packed the rhubarb from the garden, the new story that had written itself as I sat staring into the sky, went to sleep.

I return, healed. A bag still full of scars.