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Connecting FlightBy Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad QuailBellMaagazine.com  Remember that weekend in January when the forecaster made good on his word, snowed three feet in New York, turned the backyard into a ski slope, streets into collapsing igloos and over eight thousand planes mourned the loss of wings, frozen and idle on the runway, and so you rescheduled with hold music later, dismissing the karmic bent of blizzards and left Monday morning Five hours later sitting in El Dorado as travelers traipsed in shorts and sandals, which you understood, geographically, but did not recognize your hands folding away your own fleece and boots How still sixty-five degrees made each body captive in its own intimate warmth, unacquainted with the frost that kept you moving to another point on a screen It would not be long before your connecting flight would deliver you to a picture of retreat, an invite without promise expelled from a cryptic mouth Remember how you said to yourself, please, you begged, please give me a few minutes before I realize that the smell of heartbreak is always spring #Unreal #Poem #Flight #MilesAway #LostLove #Connections Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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