The man on Concourse B nuzzles his face
into the hair of the young child he carries;
even as he strides quickly toward a gate,
he nuzzles his nose against her forehead,
murmuring quiet words. I love watching them,
the parents who mindlessly brush their lips
against their children’s temples, even when
they’re hustling on moving walkways or while
juggling strollers and diaper bags in airport
security. That kind of devotion, I want that
right now for every child in this airport,
no matter how old. Especially for
that fussy woman shouting at the gate agent.
I want someone to come kiss her head
and soothe her, whisper sweet words of comfort.
And the gate agent, too, I want someone right now
to run their hand through his hair, ruffle it
with deep affection. Meanwhile, a woman walks
by with her son on her shoulders. She squeezes
his ankles, bounces him up and down.
His giggles soar above our heads, landing
in my heart like an on time arrival.