Susan LaffertyLittle stacks of memories. On the floor.
Newspaper clippings browned with age. Aerogramme letters, typed full-length and on the flaps. Magazine articles. Journal entries.
There’s no time to read every word.
So we glance. Skim. Scan for tidbits of life history.
And laugh over stories long forgotten.
Maps torn at the creases. Unfolded and refolded over the years. Attempts to plot journeys.
Travels over land. Across the sea.
The flat paper world of continents and countries. Oceans and rivers. Cities. Mountains. Plains. Deserts.
Light-weight and world-at-a-glance.
Foldable. Disposable.
Unlike real-life-living in the marks on the map.
Airport chairs. In the transit area.
Exhaustion weighs heavy in this middle place. This confined space.
And after the 17-hour flight across the Pacific, we mark time. Until boarding begins. For our next destination.
No longer living in the former place. Not yet setting foot in the new space. Caught in between.
Transit.
