I used to think I kept you like a secret.
Is it a secret if no one knows it’s being kept?
Maybe I’ll never know, but
if I did have the chops to say it out loud,
I’d tell them that
I have dreams about that plane ride.
I’d take the 6AM flight just so
the colors of the sunrise would
chase me for a thousand miles.
I’d sip my hot coffee
with too much cream at
my window seat and
make small talk with
the older woman seated beside me.
She has a kind face and
takes this flight often to visit her
son and his family.
(He relocated for work,
but couldn’t pass up the salary.)
She’d ask if I’m coming or going.
“I’m not sure yet,” I’d reply, and
offer to buy her a drink,
as I revel in and relive
every crumb of our story with her.
It’s a good one, I think.
(And she thinks so too.)
She places her hand on mine, and,
with the sincerest of smiles,
wishes me well on my adventure.
She’s always there, and I like her.
I dream that baggage claim is
a ghost town, but I
recognize your eyes beyond the carousel
before I recognize my own blue suitcase.
Sometimes you have flowers in your hand,
but you always have a hug.
There’s excitement and understanding in it—
a relief that teeters on tears
and lips that waited for so long
to whisper, “Finally.”
And I feel so safe and found.
I’m at home
in a place I’ve never been before—
in arms that have never held me.
My blue suitcase— still circling.
I laugh, and I can’t wait to tell you
that I dream of you in color.
I quickly give you instructions
on how to find me again
in case we get lost.
I tell you dream flights are cheaper
if you’re in bed before 9PM.
I don’t know if you hear me,
but before I can ask,
I’m awake.
I’m alone.
You’re my secret again.
The secret I’ve never told.
BWI direct to XNA.
© Bitsy Sanders, August 2025
