Bus From the Airport

No suitcase. I just came to
say goodbye

waited for my bus back
in a hot, black night that felt like Atlas
passing the buck to my shoulders

She says – we give people strength
when they are too weak to stand
for themselves. You know

I know, it’s one of those nights
when you dissolve like aspirin and forget how to breathe
and music makes papercuts

so deep they
draw blood. Lights on in my hood,
islands blazing in a black
tanker-strewn potpourri

oil spill below me. This is how it feels
to be empty. And They say

Are you really living your life?
My bones, bored of being glass houses for my soul, say no. Not quite.

Once, airports made me feel alright. Transient
easy friends, dull lights in the sky

I used to think
every aeroplane was Venus
winking at me. These days I pray

on buses and tremor-stricken plane rides to hot places

to be made right. Make me right
I bite the words to God –
God or just
another set of blinking lights?

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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