Boarding

When I die, I hope for a short time of perfect clarity,

to finally get answers to questions both big and small.

What is the universe IN?

How is it that tiny moist creatures can be

buried in mud, basically frozen all winter,

yet crawl blinking into the forest come spring?

Why does my neighbor run his chainsaw

at 10:30pm on those balmy nights

when all the windows cry to be open?

But mostly when I die, I hope to find myself in a

really good airport, where there are rows of cafés

and bookstores and shops to look at tchotchkes that

you would never buy in life (but it doesn’t matter now).

The best part would be

hanging out at the gates

watching planes come and go.

Waiting for my own plane –

destination unknown.

Scanning the arriving passengers.

Is there a familiar face?

A long-awaited embrace?

A happy, happy airport dance?

It staggers me to think that

in a blink of time from now

I will leave the hustle and

bustle of the concourse

       and fly.