in a room like an airport
my mind felt like a plane
but my chest was heavier than anything
i'd experienced in the childhood
that whispered with whiskey breath,
hotly into my ear,
smelling of coconut oil and black hair
gingerly putting things nicely

but i know it's time to depart
mary mary hold my hand
until the sun comes and wakes me

in a room like an airport
quarantined behind tall window panes
chained down by the sounds
of whispers in the hallway
the scent of steam and cocoa butter
wafting towards me
to tell me fields of rice
beckon me home home home

but i know it's time to depart
mary mary hold my hand
until the sun comes and wakes me