by Christopher Stolle
Everyone here
is in the middle
of something.
We’ve come
from different places
and we’re headed
somewhere after this.
People talk incessantly,
voices blending
into hummingbird murmurs.
They reminisce
about previous trips
and decide how
to get to their hotels
and discuss how best
to solve myriad conundrums—
an existential exercise
in folly and futility.
But these imperfect strangers
find commonality
in this singular activity.
They converse politely
despite knowing
they’ll never
see each other again.
No one complains
about how long
this is taking,
the lips and feet
continuing to move.
When we reach the end
and we’re assigned
an immigration officer,
we’re so focused
on moving forward,
we forget to look back
to say goodbye.