Alba: New Jersey
by Anne-Marie Thompson
Missing the flight home
isn’t so terrible when it means
staying a little longer in New Jersey. And this
is probably the last time
we’ll ever travel and as long as
we make the most of this second-chance-last
night, that is fine with us.
Jersey summer heat is almost too much
to bear. We ride the shuttle back to the hotel,
your head in my lap, eyes closed
except when the wheels hit the bumps in the road.
We check into our room and
undress and
climb into the giant bed we could never afford.
I crawl into the bend
of your shoulder and chest.
You kiss the top of my forehead, and we drift
off to sleep, only to wake up before dawn, hopeful
to catch a standby flight home.
The heat wave subdues and a cool breeze swirls our hair.
The shuttle is on time.
