The zip stutters as the suitcase closes,
full of boxes with my favourite dishes.
I lift it, I’m surprised about the weight it poses
when it’s only socks, a sweater, and some wishes.
I always leave more behind than I could ever take away.
Release the bag, look up, exchange a final hug.
I linger for a moment;
wrestle to suppress a helpless shrug.
Turn away, lift that boulder.
Debate a glimpse over the shoulder –
I struggle to remember either way.
I’m conscious of my bag’s dimensions.
Might as well be on the safe side,
lest someone should mention
anything about its size.
I unzip it and remove a sigh,
stick it in my inner pocket.
I am protective of my excess baggage.
I get onboard my rocket.
A summary, a wish for safety, an emoji –
you text in our familiar code.
I wonder if there’s time for one more call,
prolong our high-frequency exchange
of love over satellite,
before I have to enter flight mode.
I dispose of that sigh after all,
let it cruise around our pressurised cage
of natural and artificial light.
Ground again. A little chime:
The intercom reminds me to reset my watch.
The difference, as always, is two hours – not too much,
though I fear the day when I discover
that it has become a lifetime.