Sometimes you just have to wait

The battery on my phone ran out hours ago.

I should have bought a longer book.

Long enough for this unexpected delay.

Pro-democracy protesters have shut down

Hong Kong International Airport.

There’s nobody at the counters by the gates,

It’s past midnight and they left hours ago.

Laptop is in the red zone and I need to

save that for making alternative plans.

I don’t dare leave the area at the departure

gates until I know what is going on, how or if

I’m going to reach my destination in time

for the memorial ceremony at the Buddhist

temple in Bangkok the day after tomorrow.

I have a TSA approved hard plastic container

of human cremains in my compact back pack.

Three pairs of clean socks, underwear

two shirts and a pair of slacks. This was

supposed to be a very short trip.

Every seat in the terminal is occupied

by sleeping travelers, and every patch of carpet.

No place to stretch out or even sit.

But there is space under the rows of seats

where I can slide in from the end.

Rest my head on my backpack.

Stuffed with my clothes and the ashes

of my deceased partner.

No sleep, but it’s more comfortable

than the cold granite floors of the corridors

At least it’s carpeted and warm enough.

With a view of shoes, socks, ankles.

I close my eyes and listen.

It’s very quiet now, the anxious voices

of a few hours ago have mostly faded.

A baby cries gently until it’s mother

soothes it in a language I don’t recognize

but the baby does.

The airline representatives return

in the morning, we will have to exit

customs and rebook our flights.

Thousands throng the ticket counters,

there are no seats to Bangkok departing today.

I get one for tomorrow and walk

two minutes to the airport hotel.

Book a room that includes access

to the deluxe lounge. Light buffet

and open bar. View of a parking lot.

I will get to Bangkok less than 24 hours

before the ceremony, but we’ll be there. 

Mysterious terrain

I got a double bed when

I was twelve, but only

needed half of it.

I slept on the side

that was up against

the wall so I could

make mind’s eye

trips on the vintage

topographic map

of the southern

Sierra Nevada

pinned to the wall.

I would climb up

from Mineral King

past Sawtooth Peak

and Columbine Lake. Make

my way down Lost Canyon

to the crystal headwaters

of the Kern River

and fish for the legendary

native Golden trout.

The tight twistings of trails

between the sepia contour

lines and the deep blue

of lakes and rivers drew me

into the wilderness

of fantasy. Then I would cry

into my pillow and beg God

to give me a girlfriend.

I made promises, but

He didn’t reply. It doesn’t

work that way, does it?

I kept asking. Never

made it to the headwaters

of the Kern, it remains

mysterious terrain.

As for the heart,

I’ve made my own maps

with their peaks

and canyons, their

summits and plateaus.

And now, a sunlit meadow.

Jericho

Prisons, the ones we make

and the ones we break.

Did the sun and the moon stand still

when the trumpets blared?

Was it like the horns of bulldozers

and the shouts of cannons?

Once again it crawls beneath my skin

like in the brave song,

where the singer implores:

-Got to lose this skin

I’m imprisoned in-

I think she was talking about

something else;

like family or history

or the pain of knowing

and seeing too much.

We are so good at walls,

we love to build them or blast'em,

hide behind them. Disguise them.

Sometimes even make them into

thousand mile tourist attractions

where we can stand and imagine

the invading hordes from the steppes.

Or Mexico.

Because we need to watch out

for the barbarians and trespassers.

They have no respect for gods or laws.

The ones we made up, anyway.

And the worst invader is

the crowded mob inside me

with it's demands for wild rivers,

women, whiskey, cigarettes and songs.

Don't they know?

This is not healthy, acceptable,

obedient, or dutiful.

This cell can be broken from the inside,

no tanks or helicopters required.

That's what will shatter the rest you know,

joy that smothers fear with a blanket,

a blanket in the grass

where we can lie on our backs

watching the stars

and scratching bug bites.

And remember when

some other barred doors

slammed open for the last time

on that famous island prison

now with it's ferries and guided tours.

Let's try it again with horns and singing,

it worked once before.

Stop the sun and the moon

have a dance, a parade

for twenty four hours.

It'll be soon enough before

someone’ll come along

with a big ring full of keys

and tries to lock us up again.

Ready to make some escape plans?