Monday, October 7, 2013


Dulles Airport Late Sunday night

Waiting, waiting for the last flight out to Roanoke
I wander through gray carpet deserts,

up and down stairs, dazed by 3,000 miles
and lack of sleep, still glowing from the tender brush

of Sacramento’s air at 5 a.m. on my cheeks
like a mother’s goodbye.

I come upon an anonymous corner; a man
kneels, face to the wall, on a gray-white rectangle of cloth.

His intention so wholly fills his middle-aged body
I am embarrassed

to interrupt but he gracefully lowers
his forehead to the floor

in a singular reverence
and gratitude washes over me

for his devotion;
I walk around the corner

stand looking out at the dusky tarmac
beneath an almost-indigo sky,

let go of my suitcase,
my backpack of important things,

try to pray
that unabashedly.

Deborah A. Miranda

I had a lot to be thankful for after the California Indian Conference this past weekend.


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