A departure beginning with an embrace,
A frigid evening, a driver,
The black back seat, my own silence,
My own space,
An airplane ride,
Commotion, all things foreign,
The hanging smiles bewilder me,
Crossing miles, I’ve crossed cultures,
Days occupied with meetings,
Shackled am I underneath the formalities,
Of these business layers,
And at night, each night, all I do is miss you,
“It’s only three weeks,” they say,
“You can do that in your sleep.”
My head nods, my heart hangs,
Transcontinental flights, 13 hours away.
I’d go longer to see you.
Does my return begin the same way?