NaPoWriMo #24

Baggage

The past runs high
in the terminal,

wheels and feet
tell you, We're in transit.

We equal movement
and full hearts:

we are the faces of this layover
and the next and the next,

airport Starbucks and
unheard-of cookie stores. We are

the tax-and-duty-free gift shops
and the gossip magazines;

we are the perfumes and
the Photoshopped magnets,

every souvenir known to man
wrapped up in our bodies.

We are not tempted,
but we are loaded with the weight

of flight and hope,
air hostesses in navy blue,

coiffed hair, and
perma-smiles.