in the plane
I couldn't sit for long.
I'd carry books, and the journal that was meant to hold my travels
the words of the trip were meant to come on the plane rides,
but I could never sit.
The seatbelt light would end and I'd be up.
sometimes only in my seat, but standing, just enough to feel standing,
or in the aisle by the crew - who never minded conversation
I'd do taiji by the bathroom door
I'd only sit to sleep, and so, the writing went undone.