The Travelling Poets Society, whose Website will be up and running soon, has chosen my poem, “Runway,” for display on its site. More details to follow as I receive them, but I give you the poem here, as the girl who wears it all on her sleeve. Thanks for stopping by. Thanks for reading.
There is nothing romantic about a parking garage
until you park on the top level and lean
over to kiss my tears,
the Indianapolis skyline a shimmering
silent witness to our goodbye.
You tasted my salt once
last night. Bittersweet sleep promised
safety in your warm arms
and a too-soon tomorrow.
In that tomorrow we sit, bathed in a sleepy sun,
that same sun that set on sweet yesterday
when you promised me the world.
You carry my baggage
down stone-cold steps
into a steely elevator that has nothing
but apathy for weepy moments
such as this.
In the terminal
(what a weighty word that is)
the fiery sun burns
the colossal west windows facing
the runway and we
sip Pepsis out of paper cups.
It is your favorite time of day,
on any other day;
on this day,
the least favorite hour:
A final farewell before flight.
I pause on yesterday’s words.
Why had you not stopped time?
You held my hand and said, “I’m working on it.”