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I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the Slowdown. I spend a lot of time in airports. It can be a stress packed with people who are overloaded with adrenaline and cortisol, subsisting on $30 bags of almonds and $8 bottles of water. People are rushing to make their flights or frantically finding their way to their terminal or struggling to get rebooked. I'm often one of them. When I'm preparing for a multi city book tour, I'm not nervous about reading in front of people or answering questions or finding my way around a strange place. I'm nervous about getting where I'm going. And with somewhat regular government shutdowns impacting TSA these days, those nerves aren't coming from nowhere. But there are so many beautiful moments in airports if you pay attention. Parents comforting children or occupying them with silly games. Couples excited to be going on a trip together. Teams of uniformed student athletes traveling to or from a big game. Outside the terminal, you might see people hugging hello or goodbye, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing. Parents and grandparents picking up kids and swinging them around. Couples reunited, kissing and hugging right there in the pickup lane, with drivers maneuvering around them. After a long day of travel, it warms my heart, and it reminds me that people and a dog are waiting for me at home. Travel is difficult, and it's a privilege. It can take us on adventures beyond what we've known, bring us back to a land where we have roots and reunite faraway family. Today's poem finds communion in the airport, seeing the space as a symbol of what binds us. At the baggage claim in JFK by Lo Naylor, a man in a black newsboy cap holds a sign with one word Mother. Other men hold signs, but I see mother and cannot look away. It's late faces are clenched and the carousels buzz nervously, as if they too are awaiting her. I'm not holding a sign, but I glance around to see if my mother might appear anyway, around the corner, draped in totes and purses, wheeling her suitcase with a fraying green ribbon tied to the handle. My child is strapped to me, sleeping, and I imagine my mother, a cushion the shape of a croissant around her neck, lighting upon the man's sign as if it were the face of her daughter, the one she lost, returned to her, a sign, a siren. Mother? Someone asks, and I overhear the man say he hasn't seen his mother, and in 23 years he would have been a small child. Now he's tall, bearded, and he runs to her, a small woman with long braided hair. For a moment we are all suspended, the whole airport, the passengers, the conveyor belts, the escalators going neither up nor down. Then a sheen reappears on the floors as the man drops to his knees, wraps his arms around his mother's waist, draws himself into the child who might have hidden behind her legs. It doesn't last, of course. The baby makes her noises. Time clicks back into place, ferries us all away. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram, loadownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org the slowdown is written by me, Maggie Smith. The show is produced by Micah Kielbon and Maria Wurtel. Our music is composed by Kyle Andrews, engineering by Derek Ramirez. Our editor and digital producer is Jordan Turgeon. Additional production help by Susannah Sharpless, Ruby Sigmund, and Lauren Humpert. APM's Director of Distribution is Amy Lundgren, and our president is Chandra Kavati. Hi, it's Maggie. The Slowdown helps you discover new poems and revisit old favorites. You can help us continue showcasing poetry from a diverse swath of authors by making a tax deductible gift. Head to slowdownshow.org donate today.
Podcast: The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily
Host: Maggie Smith
Episode: 1501: at the baggage claim in JFK by Lo Naylor
Date: April 24, 2026
In this episode, host Maggie Smith explores the unique emotional terrain of airports—spaces charged with stress, anticipation, and poignant reunions. Through a personal reflection and a moving reading of Lo Naylor’s poem “at the baggage claim in JFK,” Smith invites listeners to notice small moments of human connection that help us understand both the trials and privileges of travel.
“It can be a stress packed with people who are overloaded with adrenaline and cortisol, subsisting on $30 bags of almonds and $8 bottles of water.” (01:08)
“I’m often one of them… I’m not nervous about reading in front of people… I’m nervous about getting where I’m going.” (01:30)
“But there are so many beautiful moments in airports if you pay attention.” (01:51)
“Travel is difficult, and it’s a privilege. It can take us on adventures beyond what we’ve known, bring us back to a land where we have roots, and reunite faraway family.” (02:23)
“A man in a black newsboy cap holds a sign with one word: Mother. Other men hold signs, but I see mother and cannot look away.”
“I’m not holding a sign, but I glance around to see if my mother might appear anyway, around the corner, draped in totes and purses, wheeling her suitcase with a fraying green ribbon tied to the handle.”
“For a moment we are all suspended, the whole airport, the passengers, the conveyor belts, the escalators going neither up nor down.”
“Then a sheen reappears on the floors as the man drops to his knees, wraps his arms around his mother’s waist, draws himself into the child who might have hidden behind her legs. It doesn’t last, of course… Time clicks back into place, ferries us all away.”
On the collective experience of travel:
“After a long day of travel, it warms my heart, and it reminds me that people and a dog are waiting for me at home.” (02:14)
On paying attention despite stress:
“But there are so many beautiful moments in airports if you pay attention.” (01:51)
Poem’s moment of emotional suspension:
“For a moment we are all suspended, the whole airport, the passengers, the conveyor belts, the escalators going neither up nor down.” (04:40)
Maggie Smith’s narration is gentle, reflective, and empathetic—favoring imagery, evocation, and an invitation to mindfulness. The episode keeps a contemplative, personal tone, encouraging listeners to find connection and wonder in everyday encounters.
By weaving together her own observations and Naylor’s poem, Smith urges listeners to pause and notice the emotional micro-moments in public places—especially those precious, fleeting instances of reunion that remind us of our shared humanity. The episode becomes a meditation on paying attention, embracing the arduous and the joyful, and always remembering who (or what) we hope will be waiting for us at home.