Photos, 1966 by Juli Simon

In a Charlotte airport, my mother and I look up and smile.

We are dressed and pressed, our hair sprayed still and perfect.

My father, timber-tall in a suit, bends a right angle to hold the raised hands

of my brother, a motion-crazed toddler chasing tumbled windows of light

across the polished floors, limitless as sky.

Arrival, across the country in a desert city, down a careful stairway

from the plane, into a familiar heat and the welcome of ages.

It felt like magic, and nothing less.

About the Author

Juli Simon is a recently retired muralist and decorative painter who finds paint often easier to manage than words. The (sometimes) loveable intricacies of human nature are what interest her most, in daily life and in her poetry.