There once was a nontraditional medical student who lived beside an international airport…

your plane flew just
overhead today
and I wonder if
you looked out of your window
if you saw the school of medicine
peeled back the roof, took
two flights down, opened
the heavy
wooden door of 217L, studied
the girl who existed, at least
in that moment, almost
entirely between her ears:

me.

I looked up in your shadow and realized
you are me
four years ago, fleeing
a country, an identity, a fleeting
feeling. you
are me four years ago, and yet
I wonder if you have a better view
from way up there and I wonder

if your window is big enough
or if you closed
the shade.

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