Departures

In airports, in among the lines and laws, all our goodbyes and hellos come falling down the luggage carousel for all to see.

You never liked to say goodbye in airports. Didn’t like to be so private around others. As though, they could possess us in that moment, such a small thing between us. Something the absent minded might leave in seat pockets or overhead compartments.

This is the crossroads, you see, where I might become anything, a barista in Tokyo, a go go dancer in Toronto, a ragged wall of seaweed in Tofino. The wide concourse fills up with all of me while you watch the planes land. This is my goodbye.