Terminal 4 at Madrid-Barajas
buzzes and hums
a steady drone of luggage wheels
rapid feet, weary travelers, confused tourists
frustrated whines of sequestered children
and our little awkward pre-board tableau.
Only you will pass through.
I will walk back outside
hail a taxi
and resume life
water closing around the stone-shaped kerplunk
as your leaving
sinks to the floor of my soul
among artifacts from other travelers
porcelain dishes, pendants, leather belts
papers, ticket stubs
everyday mundane objects holding
eerie fascination
when excavated after years
of dark neglect
on the ocean floor.
Words fail
as always
“I love you” falls flat
loses its meaning
the way sometimes my own name
sounds unfamiliar and wrong
when I’ve gone for weeks without
anyone saying it out loud.
That I love you is unquestioned,
unquestionable.
The stark reality of our separateness
looms larger than ever before.
Only one of us has luggage
you will go through security
find the gate
board the plane
end up in a different time zone and continent.
Or will it be me in the different time and place?
I will return home
to a home that isn’t home
without your energy
sounds smells
disorder detritus
your presence a physical thing.
Your absence expands to the corners of the walls and ceiling
lies flat across the bedspread
gawps open on the shelves
an avalanche of emptiness
of now-gone razor and cream and soap and towel
shampoo and shirts and shoulder shrug
laughter and slacks and water bottle
ties and shoes and computer
charger cords and socks and breakfast crumbs
crushes breath from my lungs.
You are above the Atlantic
I am earthbound.
Here, without you,
I seek proof
scroll through social media, texts, photos
ahhh, yes, there you are
more real in digital
than face to face.
You were real
We were real.
I close my eyes against the brisk
Madrid winter wind
recall the way
your gaze emblazoned
your touch etched
your embrace claimed
read over and over
the graffiti you left behind
love an indelible message
because you have been here
I have, too.