Copyright 2007 Jennie Gilling. All Rights Reserved
Down the narrow aisle,
an apologetic swaying
led to the space,
temporary territory.
I settled in
as the metal shrieking
announced movement.
Around the expanse
and frontier of a table,
three other travellers,
all with open faces.
We exchanged
verbal postcards
of destinations, reasons.
One woman visiting a daughter,
home was the West Indies.
Weather taught her impermanence -
roots could not go deep.
Twice a hurricane
flattened, threw away
the bones of her home,
possessions spat out over reefs.
'I don't own anything
that matters now',
she said,
'Only people'.
Her rucksack
swung lightly
as she left.