I imagine that your wings itch, like the fever in my daughter’s bones. First, to stay. Then, to go. A whiplash oscillation searching for its tipping point– the flurried breath as flight becomes homecoming.
Your poems are so lovely, Lisa. I am sitting in an international terminal, having left family and waiting for my flight “home”; what a nice moment to read your poem. Longing to stay and itching to go….
Thanks so much, Jeri. Safe travels!
I’ve missed you, Lisa. This is utterly bewitching.
Your poems are so lovely, Lisa. I am sitting in an international terminal, having left family and waiting for my flight “home”; what a nice moment to read your poem. Longing to stay and itching to go….
Thanks so much, Jeri. Safe travels!
I’ve missed you, Lisa. This is utterly bewitching.
Thank you so much 🙂