Window Seat

Sitting on the bed

I wish I wasn’t leaving.

Lego lined shelves and

Shoyu stains

In the bedroom

I wish I wasn’t leaving.

The comfort only found from maternal energy

I wish I wasn’t leaving.

I wish I wasn’t leaving.

Backpack full of Pokémon t-shirts

And handwritten letters from mom

Lay beneath my feet

Waiting.

Silent Friday night drives,

Sardined in the backseat of moms

2005 To-Go box.

Airport bound.

Four kids desperate for the past,

But must brave the present.

Four part-time children

For one full-time

Futile attempt at a marriage.

Last hugs leaving her scent stuck to my backpack straps.

Mom kisses my palm for our goodbye.

Just ours.

Her lipstick stain offering remembrance in every crease and fold.

Heading toward the gate,

I trace her kiss mark outline with my pinky.

Her rouge colored farewell.

I wish my 6-year-old hands were clutching hers, not a ticket.

But this isn’t a ticket, it’s a shipping label.

I wish the echoes of my family together still lingered in the halls

Of my now empty childhood home.

I wish I had my mom to lean on,

But all I have is my window seat.