There is a wait onlanding.
Lazily, the plane circles the deserted countryside
aroundthe airport.
The sun had followed it across the ocean
yet stayedbehind
to enjoy the hot nights in Barcelona's alleys,
or to playin the windows of Paris,
while the shaven fields under thewing
peer sadly into the gray skies.

But not atme,
because all I can offer them now
is a lonelydetachment,
and a dull nagging reassuring me that this is where
Ibelong,
despite the disapproving cold stare of myhomeland.

The passenger next to me complains quietly inRussian
to himself
as we begin to slowly move in.
Armed guardsand smiling families
waiting at the gates
pull me through andout

cold air hits my face for the first time
in twentyhours,
and the smell
that endless rivers and oceans
could notwash from my memory
breaks my composure
which leaks out anddrops
at the ground that I no longer dare call
home.






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?Viva Franco? by Aly R., Newbury, VT

Cultural Collision by Roli K., No. Wales, PA

The Big Decision by Stacey Z., New City, NY

Welcome to Rijeka, Croatia by Andrej M., Huntingdon Valley, PA

Across the Atlantic by Siobhan M., Congers, NY

A Cyclist's View by David L., Abilene, KS



   

By Bonnie W., Hull, MA












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