Departure

Standing in the airport queue, tickets raised -

the staff nods and I step slowly forward.

“Where are you going, miss?”, but I am phased;

heading out, though my compass points shoreward.

From the shadow of my vision, you wave,

but my hands have lost circulation now.

This heartbeat pounds from my toes to skull’s cave,

conflicted, aching, damp sweat on my brow.

Memories poke needles in my knotted chest -

walking hand in hand through beautiful parks,

talking through sunsets, then getting undressed;

staring in your eyes while the firelight sparks.

“Excuse me, can I see your boarding pass?”

First drop of a rainstorm slides down my cheek,

watching you vanish behind a taxi's glass.

I try to call your name, but cannot speak,

urged to the other side where planes await,

finding a lone seat, crying at the gate.