Red Route

Red Route

London — 1 September 2026

We came down out of a night
that had somehow become morning

into the hidden country of the airport—

service roads, warehouses,
fences bent inward under years of rain.

Then the bus.

All of us standing too close,
carrying the smell
of six sleepless hours,

waiting for someone
to retrieve a telephone
left on the plane.

At last we moved.

Not toward the Heathrow I remembered—

glass and light,
the bright machinery of elsewhere—

but behind it.

Through one window
a woman ate her sandwich.

Through another
a man at his screen
rubbed his eyes.

A paper cup stood on a windowsill.

No one knew I was passing.

Then, above the narrow road,

a sign:

RED ROUTE
NO STOPPING AT ANY TIME

No stopping.

Not here.

Not anywhere.

The woman finishes her lunch.
The man turns back to his screen.
The bus carries us toward London.

My mother grows older.

The dog waits at home.

Somewhere across an ocean
morning is beginning

without me.

And here we are—

all of us traveling
through one another's windows,

catching
a glimpse.

No stopping at any time.

Still,

for a few seconds
on a grim little road
behind Heathrow,

I did.

Red Route

London, United Kingdom - 2026

Poetry and digital collage by Wren Stevens
© 2026 Wren Stevens

Leave a Little Something Behind

Have a thought, a memory, or a story of your own? I'd love to hear it. Leave a few words before you go.