Grounded Flight

CANCELED blinks in harsh white light,

a cold slash across the airport’s hum.

Faces turn toward the screen—

shadows shifting, restless,

like paper boats caught in a slow flood.

Overhead, the same voice repeats,

flat and empty,

a loop of disappointment folding into itself.

The floor is littered with tickets,

crumpled coffee cups,

a cracked phone screen glowing dim.

We wait in the sticky air,

packed tight like secrets too heavy to carry,

each heartbeat a silent countdown

that doesn’t start,

that doesn’t end.