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The Migrant

I could not remember anything about the voyage,
My country of origin, or if someone had paid for the passage:

Of such I had no recollection.

I was sure only that I had traveled;
Without doubt had been made welcome.

For a while I belived I were home,
Rooted and securelysettled,
Until it was broken to me
That in fact I were merely in transit
Bound for some other destination,
Committed to continue elsewhere.

This slow realisation sharpened,
I formed plans to postpone my departure
Not obsevring my movement en route to the exit.

Eventually facing the inescapable
I began reading travel brochures,
(Gaudy, competitive, plentiful)
Spent time considering the onward journey,
Studied a new language,
Stuffed her bosom with strange currency,
Nevertheless dreading the boarding announcements.

We watch her go through
The gate for Embarking PassengersnOnly,
Fearful and unutterably lonley,
Finger our own documents,
Shuffle forward in the queue.