I had more than an hour to wait for my flight, so I was happy when I found a corner with armchairs in Manchester airport. The seats were comfortable, but after I sat down I noticed that they were at least as tired as I was. The colour was faded, the edges were dirty, and there was a stain on the armrest.
How long have those chairs been there, in that corner? How many strangers have they welcomed and provided comfort for? Over time, it has made them tired and stained, and I understand that. People can be hard to hold up. Messy. But the chairs are still there, still welcoming new travellers anyway. My hour in one of them reminded me that it’s better to wear out by accepting stains than collecting dust. That’s what this poem is about:
To Welcome A Stain
My seat in the airport is pale, pale green
The armrests are warn from the arms that have been
Waiting right here till the time was right
To stand up and board up and take their flight
On the right-side armrest a ketchup stain
As small as a child’s finger remains
As tangible proof that they really were here
Before they departed and disappeared
My seat in the airport is pale, pale green
Faded with time but still welcoming
Tarnished and tired but comforting
To all who pass this way
And life is an airport, too, you know
And we are the strangers who come and go
And maybe before we take our flight
We could learn how to welcome a stain
sethlewis.ie 