As she stands at the check-in counter, I wait to see
bright patterned luggage on the weighing machine.
My feather puffer jacket fits fatly around me in the cold morning light,
enfolding me like the Michelin man
floating above an empty car yard.
Her white silk scarf which, in the rush, she left with me
lies furled around my neck.
She released it quick.
It holds her shimmering outline;
a memory of moulding to my back, belly, breast.
I lean into a silver guardrail and hear her
laughing between clattering departure boards.
Strands of light extend into daytime walls.
Her swirling flower suitcase jostles along a conveyer belt
and disappears through vertical rubber blinds.
Her red coat, in glassed escalators
flows glorious in metallic waterfall.
I am marooned on the concourse,
waving my feathered arm as she glides away
like strobe light among the crowd.
I linger at her exit gate until the last slice of her.
The fading heel of her boot;
a sleeve flips, then sinks back.
The quiet silk scarf at my cheek
slips into my blood stream.
By Gina Cole