In Transit

An old favorite poem that I re-stumbled upon tonight, and that seems fitting for my current nomadic situation.

IN TRANSIT
by Elisavietta Richie


Coming from somewhere else
at any age, even in utero,
you're never sure

your feet touch the soil.
Your whole life you hover--
hawk, helicopter

or fat dirigible, fearful
someone might poke a hole,
light a match--

You hang in there, up there,
wondering will they finally
grant permission to land

or forever challenge your passport,
check your fingerprints,
discount your money, question

could you survive as a stranger?
Best stay suspended,
forget the keys to the town.

Here, the air is dangerous, cold,
wind currents tricky, but
God, what a view.