Airport

I have always been fascinated with people in airports. As a youngster in the 1960's we would often fly from Southern California to Portland, Oregon to visit family for the summer.

I looked forward to the time before boarding when we had to sit quietly and wait. We were well disciplined children under the heavy hand of strict parents. "Children are to be seen, not heard" was the First Commandment in our home!

While we waited for the great escape to Grandma's house, I learned to entertain myself quietly as best as I could. Like my brother and my sister, I was anxoius to walk out on the tarmac to climb the flight of stairs to the plane. Fidgeting and squirming was not allowed. I learned to watch the people and wonder at the story hidden in each heart. I captured details of their faces, their hands, their stride and stance. The sight and smell of anticipation was tangible at an airport.

It was during those years, the Wonder Years, that I lived only blocks from the Long Beach airport and would ride my bike to the terminal and "people watch". I remember flying often as a child but the greatest memory came in 1968 when I was given control of a two seater plane with my Uncle as pilot. We flew low above the town of Lebanon, Indiana and he allowed me to "buzz" the public swimming pool where my sister and cousins were spending their day! It seemed that I was grounded for many years following that escapade though that stunt was not the cause.

It wasn't until years later that I was able to fly back home to my Seattle family for a visit.

It was at that time in life, the mid-70s, when I wrote this poem.

I have never forgotten how fulfilled I felt when I placed that last pen stroke and sat back to appreciate the outcome. I copied it once and set it aside. I then folded the original and sent it to my grandparents in celebration of the time we'd spent together. I pulled it out and read it often over the next few years. Then life happened and the past was lost but not forgotten.

Airports

Running through the
crowded corridors
past the silent
people standing still.
Sailors back from war
glace up, watching.
Young girls saunter by
heads held high.
Relatives sitting,
wringing hands,
glancing about.
Business men
walk casually
with secret smiles
painted on their
silent faces.
Gray haired men
sit and stare
with tears in
their eyes.
Anxious people
all going home.