“At the airport”

“everything is temporary”
she whispered
and walked away
had I thought, for an instant
that I could have kept her
stolen away to a distant land
without wardens of borders
men in uniform
with documents to declare their authority
the right to take her from me
she would have been mine
that moment
but those are not these times
so I watched her gather her bag
and walk the hallway, to the men
they took her coat, her shoes
her bag
she’d said it smelled of me
I wondered if their touch
might somehow change that scent
distort her memory
but then
a thin blue arm
stretching upward in triumph
her arm, wavy behind stained glass
her hand, small, as it was in mine
reaching out to say
and I knew she would come back
to me

© M. Black, 2016 All rights reserved.


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