Last Flight

It was night
In early November
You sat in a white plastic seat
Waiting at the gate
You had dropped your coin purse in my truck
That is why I had come back
After dropping you outside the terminal
Simply to return a few dollars in change.
Sure, it could have waited
But I was compelled that night
To go to all the effort
Of getting it to you
Before you flew off
Within a week you had died
The last night I saw you alive
Fitting it was at the airport
How you always loved to travel

France and Italy,

Hawaii and New England,
Yet they found you
Peacefully in your chair at home
An empty cocktail glass at your side
Such an uneventful way
for a woman who kicked buzz bombs
off rooftops in London
To start her latest voyage.

I’m grateful you dropped your change.