when they make their way toward me at seat 32A

it is the old woman who smiles at me first

her wrinkled eyes crinkling under her mask

the old man sits next to me and she in the aisle

and we don’t speak

they’re sweet, easy airplane row neighbors

closed eyes

passed handkerchiefs

as we land I look over

and see their clasped hands

i suddenly feel warm

embarrassed

intrusive

but special because i got to witness

their live

their protection

their shared history marked by blue veins and liver spots

saggy skin

glistening rings

two simple bands

and then i think about you

how our short history, though long-feeling, pales in comparison

but how bright life is

spending it with you

how special it is to know

that we will one day board a plane

and clasp wrinkly hands when we are about

to land

when we finally get home.