poetic interlude

a week from today
i will be panicking as i try to track down lost shoes and socks and pack 900 shekels worth of gifts and traded t-shirts into my bags,
a week from today i'll be choking back the bittersweet foreign words that mean i'm finally, oh god, i'm finally going home.
a week from today i won't be sleeping, not at all; i'll be on the bus to the airport and we'll just sit there in the intl terminal, trying so hard to make so much of the last few hours before we're sealed in and sleep through and pop out
in nyc.
and then everyone will disappear through the cracks in the short-rubbed sanitary grey-blue carpet and i will fly home alone,
knuckles white on the blue pleather armrests and eyes locked on the clouded white mountains that i know will tell me i'm home.