Pariah

by Michael Estabrook

At the baggage carousel I ask
how she got her dog so well trained
to lie still at her feet for six hours.

“Two years specialized training
been with me five.
I have a rare immunological disease,” she adds.
I’m sorry.

Her voice is quiet, shaky
but maybe it’s the surgical mask she’s wearing.
“I give lectures all over the country
so we do a lot of flying together.”
I imagine she’s smiling.

Tough enough traveling with a baby
but a dog all the time, impressive.

Her red hair pulled back in a ponytail
makes me wonder (for some reason) if she
can have normal relationships
can she kiss a man for example, but of course
don’t ask her that.

On the plane I thought she was a whack-a-doodle
with the dog, the mask, the headphones
and now I want to hear
her whole story, want to see her face,
touch her hand.

As I’m leaving with my bag
she gives a faint little wave
grateful I assume that someone talked to her.
Take care I say and wave back reminded once again
that you can’t tell a book…and all that.