White Space

I liked it better

when the “feel better” bags

on airlines

were made from paper

and not plastic

as I root for an object

to become the target of my pen.

Me, writer, no paper.

Often I resort to this,

backside of the drycleaning slip,

margins of the trailing grocery store receipt.

But I am trying to capture

a fleeting thought

one that will not wait

and so

the Tag Heuer wristwatch ad wins.

Only such an expense

could afford white open expanse

to promote a black onyx face

and leather strap.

But here is what I want to say

as I sit in proximity

to an Asian woman.

I can see into her ears.

Yes, she is that close.

Yes, she cleaned them this morn.

The side of her face is dotted with

age spots I am trying to rid of myself.

Earlier she was reading

symbols that ran up and down

on a page. I am trying to see

if the corners of her eyes

slant up or down.

I am looking over her arms

when she retrieves her boarding pass

to read her name

but she is sly this way.

I do not see a name.

If I did, I cannot recall.

Is it, a short name is Chinese,

long is from Japan?

I don’t know why

I am desperate to know.

She too is writing - in a journal.

She is more organized. I am Italian,

I go in fits and starts. But I ask,

reflecting on her race,

if as the Atheist claims,

we did not all come from one race

then how is it,

she closes her eyes

bundles beneath a blanket.

I close mine, cuddled in my scarf,

and we both fall sweetly in slumber.

How could be not alike?

Inspired by the woman sitting next to me, and the Creationism vs Bill Nye debate

2/6/2014