New Year's Night
You once told me I held laughter
In the furrow of my brow.
It made you weep to leave
On the Canadian flight from Honolulu;
And I wept, though you didn't know.
The transport hummed me away
And the dark covered me
In a shroud. At each stop I could've
rushed out the whispering
Hydraulic doors, but why?
I got the convertible, reversed
and paid the parking attendant.
The wind spilled in and the car
Shook against the asphalt.
I imagined your fingers tickling
The blond hairs on my arm as I shifted.
I pulled the car into the garage,
Walked the two blocks home,
and pressed my nose into the sheets.
A jet grumbled overhead.