Flying Home

 by Gail Goepfert

I like this moment
when there is nothing
more to do 
than wait for the B737
to skim the clouds,
skirt storms, 
and steer me home.

Nothing and no one calls.

The strangers beside me,
content with my silence,
decide if aging
can ever be spelled with an e 
for their crossword puzzle.

Only the wants await--
flowers want water
mail wants reading
laundry wants washing
groceries want buying
days want counting

soon I will be 
alone 
in wanting too.