Tell us of a bypassed heart beating in 12C,
how the woman holds a stranger’s hand
to the battery sewn in beneath her collarbone,
and says feel this. Tell us of the man’s ear
listening across the aisle, hugging itself,
a fist long since blistered by blaze.
Outside, morning sun buckling up.
Inside, twitching bonesacks of bat, birdsong
erupting as light cracks the far jungle canopy.
Ten thousand feet below ours, a grey cat
tongues the morning’s butter left out to soft.
Last night we broke open the sweet folds
around two paper fortunes. One said variety.
One said caution. The woman in 12C would hold that
her heart needs its hidden spark, but the man shows
how some live the rest of their lives with half a face
remembering its before expression. Who was it
that said our souls know one another
by smell, like horses?
~Jenny Browne “Love Letter to a Stranger”
I spent part of last weekend in airports and airplanes among strangers. As an introvert who prefers to read and stay securely in my shell, I don’t often initiate conversation with the people next to me other than the necessary “excuse me” or “thanks” when appropriate. It is always a wonder to me when seat partners across from me or in front of me will find out all about each other’s lives, destinations and feelings about the state of the world. I wrote about this recently, sharing one of Billy Collins’ poems.
I am far more private and cautious – (ironic words to be written by a blogger of 14 years with over 20,000 followers). Even so, I’m struck by the affinity I feel for my fellow passengers as we embark on a trip by air – so different from each of us independently traveling down a highway in our individual vehicles. In an airplane, our fates are lashed together. What happens to one will happen to all.
Because we are bound together – sometimes randomly, sometimes not – I do believe that we might find kindred and sympathetic souls in a mysterious way when we are thrust among strangers. We are created for connection, whether by smell or sight or spirit.
And perhaps, scrolling through the internet, you have run across Barnstorming not expecting a connection to happen.
One never knows how we may become bound together.
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