Naomi Shihab Nye
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
Read the whole poem here
I rediscovered this gorgeous poem late this summer after two trips that had me spending disgruntled time in airports with all their chaos and suspicion. It tells a simple story about Continue reading