Airports

I remember when
airports were filled with families.
When airport security understood that things are forgotten and
that relationships have unfinished business.
When you could say goodbye to someone you love at the gate
and then let them walk aboard
to wave at you from their window.
When you could watch, as their jet pushed back from the terminal
as though the ground itself withdrew at your parting.
You could hug a window, with knees on a bench that
didn’t have armrests to thwart sleepers
and trace your finger through the mist
follow their plane up, up and up
until you hit the edge
and began to wait for the phone call.