@ LAX

Renee Stout

@ LAX

after the shooting, I recognize

I am not in terminal three

I am not dead or bleeding

I haven't been trampled by others panicked & fleeing

I hear no shouts, see no ambulances or IV poles

no, here in terminal five

we sit connected by rows of chairs

fingers & eyes on smudged screens

reading words & hearing voices from people we love

lucky they are not here

not donkeys kept for seventeen years at the bottom of a mine

hours pass before a bald man in a blue shirt
snap fasteners, sleeves rolled
phone in his pocket, asks me:

Are you a hippie?