passengers

It would take me decades

to understand what my mother meant

lying there on a sterile hospital bed

smiling as we wept

the meaning came in unpredictable pieces

walking down halls lit only by lanterns

sudden darkness after entering tunnels

the warm glow of movie theater popcorn

waiting for a loved one at an airport

or tapping away at baggage claim

invigorated by a voice deeply yearned

a touch missed for years

I sat next to a child

an old train running along the coast

having difficulty staying on rusted tracks

amidst hyperventilation and prayers

this girl no older than five was stricken

with laughter amidst the trembles of men

carrying a smile just like my mother

enjoying the ride while it lasted