For You

I was eight
or seven
or six
I was at the airport
in a red plastic seat
next to my grandmother
with an awkward haircut
for a girl
and a white wool cardigan
I hated
and my cheap little
orange suitcase
closed with a yellow
twist tie
waiting to be
returned home
I don't need to tell you
about what was going wrong
back at home
and why I was with
my grandmother
you know that already
from the haircut
and the sweater
and the twist tie

my grandmother began
to stroke my arm
gently she
pushed my sleeve up and
did that
her large warm hand
on my skinny little arm
it doesn't matter
when she stopped
or what happens next

and I was no one
of course
all of us in those
red plastic seats
at the same time
all of us
all at once
awaiting
repatriation
another chance for
peace in the homeland

I recognize you now
when I see you
thirty eight
or seven
or six
your remember your suitcase
pillowcase
plastic bags

you still love
the accidental touch too
the friend you have who
sometimes touches your face when
she hugs
the hairdresser who
pulls the ends of your hair
gently
to see if everything is even
when your get the nurse practitioner
instead of the doctor
and she bows her head in close
to your heart and
places her hand
on your bare back
when she listens to your chest

phantoms of the love you got
in the airport
before being sent back

only in my 30's
did I come to like orange again.