Baggage Claim

Planes fly in circles
all day, all night.

You traveled alone, again.

There’s always one bag
no one claims on the belt.

Movement stops, you wait
in the airport’s clinical lights
while conversations blend to a drone.

Beach bracelets and t-shirts in tow,
others wait for rides in the river of cars.

Passengers from other planes filter in
and tend their incoming sheep.

There are destinations,
but don’t rush.

 

(originally published in 50GS, Winter 2018)

Shapelessness

As I move further from you, whiskey in hand,
the thirst seems to pile like distance in the miles–

my shape roasted under Pacific sun.
Our sunglasses clinked with wine glasses.

The dry sponge. Run me under the sink.
Or run with me. You could be a ghost, too,

a phantom unfurling before me, haunting
each town I pass. Every morning, I am gone.

For a while, your blanket was warm. But chill the air
long enough and someone will notice. No one

likes the cold. Everyone prefers the summer river,
her water’s blue in the ice of winter, the clear

of July. I dig for you in the dirt. Then myself.
My shapelessness. My tendency to drift

so far away that I never fully return.

 

(originally published in Jazz Cigarette, Autumn 2016)