Alex Stolis

A l e x  S t o l i s

Untitled [During a layover after crossing two time zones]

My phone goes off while I am in the airport x-ray machine; the one that does the whole body scan. My arms are up in the air. For a moment I believe it is you. For a moment it changes my life and for a moment I believe it is you. For the entire time I never think about death. Instead, there are clouds looped into rings into chains, there is bliss in the face of certain immobility. The next moment is Radiohead coming out of the PA, a conversation in an unidentifiable Eastern European language, a young boy tying his shoes. And the sky becomes a brilliant heavy blue. No, more like ice. No; it is the crush of impermanence.

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