I held my mother’s hand as we drifted along

the moving walkway underneath a ceiling of

neon ripples.

The colorful lights traveled

like running water from the far end of the

underground passageway,

shooting overhead

to the end point behind us and retracting

again. I looked forward to the neon light

tunnel at Chicago O’Hare each summer, it being the highlight

of our trip from San Francisco to Providence-

that and the pack of Red Vines I’d convince

mom to buy from the airport concession.

The layover at Chicago O’ Hare was about two

hours and we were traveling alone.

How my mom must have felt each time we went through

that tunnel, knowing she was hours from her

mother, and that it had been a year since she last held her hand.