Monday, June 27, 2016

Where Are You?

Legs tapping against gray fabric awaiting permission to deplane in Detroit.

Stolen glances and imagined kisses in Los Angeles.

Picking up speed and losing gracefully in the sands of Oahu.

Staring down at the coast, wondering if love had ever been that close at the top of 
Diamond Head.

Reading edits from the hotel balcony, accepting the answer was no.

Cringing at the water’s cold hands.

Jumping against the waves—pretending to forget I wasn’t in swim clothes.

Sifting through books at the local store.

Double fisting weak drinks at the Luau.

Hugging family like I had forgotten them in another life.

The voice said, “Where am I?”

Strolling through airport security.

Chugging down mimosas before the plane pushed off for the runway.

Waving goodbye—promising to call, and, maybe write.

Tangled in a thin blanket on the way to Detroit.

Laughing at the birds that always manage to creep inside the airport.

Waking up in Ohio.

Reading the book I never knew I could right.

“Here, that is where I’ve been,” I said.

“Oh,” the voice replied, “Have you come to stay this time?”