As you looked back etching to stone where you just came from
I gathered twigs and dried adobe solid with the toil of hands that match

as you allowed yourself to dream of life past October
I gathered strength in small quantities for you to release as needed

as you toasted what could not be acknowledged by priest nor parent
I raised my glass back knowing that you are merely days from breaking shackles

as you stayed strong for house and courage
I saved my crying for the car

as you flew away to a land of broken foundations
I wrote poetry to pictures of your contented smile

as your memory traced outreached hands touching through glass
I imagined that the next time those hands would meet they would be less empty.

09/06/2010

Author's Note: It has been a long time since I watched people coming and going at the airport, writing their fiction in terms better fitting of memory. Sometimes these write themselves...

Posted on 09/06/2010
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