Airplane

To the stranger next to me:
I would say
“Why do they say this is our home,
If only for the next five hours?
This is not home
Some of us may be flying to
Some may be flying from
But I do neither
As I’m not yet sure where my home is.”
Instead I say nothing
Staring out the window
At the wing
Where I seem to always find myself
He reads
I sneeze into the swallow on my arm
He says nothing
Not even
“Bless you.”

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