a special kind of waiting

at the airport, she seems
preternaturally calm,
pent up, her emotions
tightly wrapped like
a swaddled baby

but she can’t sit still

she walks to a high
stool at a phone table,
drags it out, sits
awkwardly, her legs
too short for comfort

speaks into her
cell phone, closes it,
gets up, puts the
chair back, paces,
speaks into her
cell again

walks some more

I’m waiting, too,
scanning the
crowd closely for
my young one, but
somehow not
like her

the depth of seriousness,
the almost grim edge
to her watching
as she moves yet again

I can’t figure it out

the plane I’m waiting for
is slightly delayed, so I
can pay closer attention
as she stands at the roped
off entry way, speaking
quietly into her cell
once more

“just follow the crowd,
and it will bring you straight
to me”

she closes her phone
one last time and waits,
her calmness melting
like snow in the
spring when a

taut-faced youth
with closely cut hair
appears at the blind
turn and makes
a bee line for her

I watch as her arm
goes around his neck
and she begins to weep,
great choking sobs
that bring tears to
my eyes

this plain woman,
ordinary in jeans
and a striped shirt,
a universe speaks
in her tears

she holds him
tightly and cries
for a long time
and he allows this,
his arm at her back,
standing quietly,
understanding
her need

this boy with eyes
too old for his
smooth face -
eyes, dark and wary
that glance at me
before I look away,
an intruder on their
reunion

searching for a place
to stash my trespassing
eyes, I light on a lady
who’s been watching
them, too

she smiles, big and warm
and tells me,

“aint nothin’ like a mama
and her soldier boy”

yeah...