Someone once told me not to be brave,
to just run.
Well, she didn’t tell me –
she told Tom Hanks in that movie.
She also prayed God would make her a bird
so she could fly far away.
So I’m doing the next best thing.
The problem is
my baggage has baggage
and I get charged an overweight fee
after setting off every metal detector
and I have to explain,
“Sorry, that’s just the bullet lodged in my parietal lobe from that time when…
I’m not sure you’d understand…
He was a red-head.
Do you get it now?
I can show you my scars.
They’re all in the journals I’ve kept for the last six months.
Can you just let me on the plane?
I’ll pay the $25 if it means escaping this place
for a week
or a month
or a day
or however long it takes before I feel like running again.”
The thing is
you can’t escape your past,
it always follows you.
All you can do is turn around
and find another airport to tell your story
and maybe this time
someone will listen.
And maybe this time
it won’t just be to keep you on the ground beneath them.
It won’t just be to craft ammunition out of the trust you give
until you have to fly away from another port
and pay another fee
and reluctantly explain, another time,
“Sorry….I’ve got these bullets…”
No, maybe this time you’ll be heard
and they’ll let you fly away
but you’ll always fly back to that airport
because it’s the only one that helps you understand
what it means to fly back home.