Every time I’m in an airport,I think I should drasticallychange my life: Kill the kid stuff,start to act my numbers, set fireto the clutter and creep belowthe radar like an escaped caninesneaking along the fence line.I’d be cable-knitted to the hilt,beautiful beyond buying, believein the maker and fix my problemswith prayer and property.Then, I think of you, homewith the dog, the field fullof purple pop-ups—we’re smalland flawed, but I want to bewho I am, going whereI’m going, all over again.

-Ada Limon

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