The Migrant

I could not remember anything about the voyage,

My country of origin, or if someone had paid for the passage:

Of such I had no recollection.

I was sure only that I had traveled;
Without doubt had been made welcome.

For a while I believed I was home,
Rooted and securely settled,
Until it was broken to me
That in fact I was merely in transit
Bound for some other destination,
Committed to continue elsewhere.

This slow realisation sharpened,
I formed plans to postpone my departure
Not observing my movement en route to the exit.

Eventually facing the inescapable
I began reading travel brochures,
(Gaudy, competitive, plentiful)
Spent time considering the onward journey,
Studied a new language,Stuffed my bosom with strange currency,
Nevertheless dreading the boarding announcements.

They watch me go through
The gate for Embarking Passengers Only,
Fearful and unutterably lonely,
Finger their own documents,
Shuffle forward in the queue.