slouching, nudging, folding

I carried two paper bags onto the airplane, lacy underpants and silk scarves spilling over their edges, and took the window seat. The safety information was in a language I had not heard outside of markets in the boroughs of Toronto or the hallways of my high school in the suburbs; it sounded like a song that sticks to the consonants and soars over the vowels, didactically and dolorously drummed off the tongues of the invisible flight attendants: air, aira, hezz-ah, eh-jair-en-tae-bair. They looked like they’ve read this book before.

The infinite sands of the finite lands beneath us are slouched into shadows. The dunes of the Sahara are folding, nudging, melting into variegated shades of brown: taupe, fawn, beige, buff, nude, coffee, bronzed, camel.