(vivid) (vividblog) (poetry) (poems) (words) (writing) (creative)

Monday, July 17, 2006


The boy was maybe thirteen, all knees and elbows and pale, upturned nose, and his older sister waited with him in the snaking security line.

She couldn't accompany him past the checkpoint, they told him. Only ticketed passengers allowed. His lip wobbled, though he tried to hide it, and he told her he loved her before she turned away.

Without warning, I found myself crushed by the force of centuries of maternal instinct. In that moment I would have gladly abandoned my flight, my plans, my career, to follow him and make sure he reached his destination safely.


Post a Comment

<< Home