crumbs at the airport

When the airport is your home

your life is filed in folders,

labeled goodbye and welcome back,

of “hello strange new place” and “so much has changed…”

When the buzz of people,

the bright white floors,

and big open hallways

bring with them a sense of comfort,

you know you’ve grown your roots on the edge of a

cliff, on the wing of a bird

on the moon itself –

Home becomes anywhere because home is nowhere.

I’ve left my crumbs as I walked through life.

Some were blown away by stormy gusts,

others were collected

by finches and creatures of the land.

Some lay where they have fallen,

perfectly untouched,

cold and stone-hard by now.

But that’s the thing

when the airport is your home.

You are always going somewhere,

eternally leaving more crumbs as you go.

Some are for people to hold onto and cherish,

some you don’t even realise you dropped

until someone tries to return one

and you don’t recognise it anymore.