waiting at reagan international

don't let them get to you. these words, this repetition of mundane droning (i hold myself and move softly back and forth) which i whisper quietly to still the women in my head. "shhh. don't cry", i tell them and they don't listen. "you listen to me", they sternly speak in unison, then move off into their own arguments and i try to keep track: too many to ignore, too many to believe. i know you know. i know you hear yours, too. i wish i could help you. i wish i could teach you how i reach for just one at a time. most often one wins and she is dull and contemplative, like the dead eyes of the finch my cat brought home. i like her. she is easy to follow and she makes the others seem preposterous. i try to listen to only one and simply move beyond the others.

i am in a station, listening to a carefully spoken announcement, and i pass out of reach of the conversations around me. i know you know.