The thought of flying alone makes me
Stick my hands in my front pockets
For hours.

Ticket; check.
Luggage; check.
Headphones to block the voices
Of strangers, I do not want
To know where you are going
Or what you are leaving.
I do not want to know how much more
Poignant your sorrow,
Your excitement.

I ride sound waves.

I ride the beats of
People I will never meet and
Forget those I have left behind forget
In a few short hours I will
Cry into my father’s arms I will
See the one face that makes
Me
Palms up and empty
Ready to touch railings again.