NINE

 

she’ll board the bus bewildered.
i’ll be standing on the platform waving with tears in my eyes.
a man, third in line, blue black duffle bag in hand will tell me,
“dry your eyes, sweety, she’ll be home soon.”
i will look at him and say,
“maybe so, but maybe not.”

when the bus pulls out of the station
i will back track through the maze of tunnels
chewing on my lower lip,
then ride the same old train home.

before she leaves there will be a moment between us
where we realize that, after four years, we have no idea when
we’ll see each other again.

there will be a flash in my mind of words said six months earlier,
“leaving means accepting that nothing will be the same.
it means you won’t see how things change.
once you go, you won’t have anything to come back to.”

but
at the station
as the driver checks her ticket
i will find myself promising to keep watch.
to make sure everything she loves remains.

cecelia is gone.