Saying Good-bye

I knew I had to say good-bye.
My plane left at 2:31 p.m.,
I had to leave at some point.
It used to be I didn’t have to leave
for more than a few hours to go to work.
When I came back to get her,
I’d pick her up in my arms
and stroke her cheeks and hair
and take her home with me.
She would chatter about her
day while I cooked a simple dinner
and I’d put her and Bear to bed.
I had to say good-bye today,
knowing that it would be weeks
before I saw her again and stroked
her hair, counted the freckles on her lips,
noticed her enunciation of certain words
that always gave her trouble,
but don’t seem to anymore.
I hate to say good-bye and I sense
she does, too, as we embrace four times
before I turn away as if to enter the subway station.
She turns and walks towards the Coop.
I watch her recede into the distance, but she
never turns aroundto wave back at me