See You in Seattle - Flipbook - Page 10
10
I wore a smoke-stained coat
as she boarded her plane.
Knowing her makeup would run
and her hair would fall
in the city of pouring rain.
My eyes would meet
in the mirror of hapless shame,
beckoning me to saunter
in a field of endless grain.
My hand,
where she’d lay her hand,
now holds only
the weight of my head,
stuck as though in prayer.
Past the ceilings, above the clouds,
my love is in the air.
She let her faith go
and drag her along,
watching idly as she rose to the storm.
An empty chair in a room of one’s own.
I died one hundred times
but I died first
then and there.
My love was in the air.
