There’s a feeling I get whenever I fly
A hollow, hungry, nausea
The weight of me lifted up
Then down and around before it lands
Back in this faux leather seat.

Lungs full of breathless air
Eyes wide with sleep
Nostrils stinging with the bite
Of air filtered, flushed, and frigid

I bite the dry skin around my nails
Salted with peanut dust
Stuck to my skin from condensation
On the outside of a ginger ale

It’s a feeling I sometimes get at random too
Comforting in its turbulent passage
Through my veins and nerves and pores
Like something is changing, something is coming

A pinch in my back
A crick in my neck
Cramped legs that are ready for a stretch
Waiting to touch down on fresh soil

But I am never afraid or even restless
The sound of seatbelt lights
The dim fluorescence of travel
Through air and through life

These are the things I think of as home