AT THE AIRPORT
We spot you at once in the crowd
from Gate 17 -
slower than the others,
walking toward us
on a cane.
We hug you loosely -
wary of your pain
as if it were contagious.
A little breathless,
like a child exhausted
from its first steps,
you stand very still,
letting us happen to you.
As your suitcase
comes wobbling by,
we snatch it from the carousel
like a last chance.
It's a quiet drive home -
you have always been taciturn -
and we, tired
from your long flight,
will save our questions
until we are sure
we can handle the answers.

Marianne Poloskey