Delayed Anxiety
I’ve been sitting here in this space
in Ivano since six -in-the-morning.
Now it’s nine, the fog creeps in:
an unwelcome and uninvited
guest. My flight from Kyiv to France
leaves at noon and the fog
refuses to move. If I’m delayed
one minute more from falling
into your arms —
Last week I missed my flight in Paris.
That was bad enough, now this.
I beat the air with frenzied fists
and the fog only laughs.
Unpacking her bags she spreads herself
across the chairs, settled to stay.
She licks her lips and lifts her brow.
Another time, another place
and I would calmly take it all
in stride but not today. You fill
my thoughts like this fog fills air.
I am embraced, but not by you.
Those phantom arms leave me damp
and cold within this space with
no place to go —
To support the poet’s benign coffee addiction: Coffee.
