Terminal 3 Mezzanine

It’s the season of to/from labels

and return addresses

but here

in this place where no one and everyone is coming and going

and all of the packages have wheels and entirely known content—

insides that the rollers will fight dirty for

there is a room

the scent of antiseptic hangs in the air

whispering germs…unclean…you don’t know where they have been…

so I take a deep breath and lay flat on the floor

time passes lazily for the starfish

at odds with the bustling rollers right outside the door

until a voice splits the air

faint, but clear as a songbird

“Can I pray in here?”

 

Of course you can!

in a way, I’m praying too

and thus begins the ballet of bows

one to paschimottanasana

the other to the Eastern wall

and as I dance I wonder

if the final destination might be the same

 

both heads covered

one in a traditional scarf

the other in a fuzzy hoodie

slowly collecting the dead skin cells of visitors past

breathing and bowing

and praying and stretching

blood sweeping and cleansing the bodies in this tiny sacred space

until it stops

and she says

“I hope I didn’t disturb you”

as she quickly gathers her belongings and exits the room

before I can respond

or think to say

“You’ve done the opposite of disturbing me, dear sister, you’ve given my soul rest.”

deep peace in a hub full of weary travelers

flitting and flying

while our prayers ascended as silent smoke

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