The heat engulfs her as before, but wait,
this time she's not a local anymore.
She's just a stranger from a distant shore
yearning for friendly faces at the gate.
Faces she knows. Faces she used to know.
The ones who'll know her own, seeking the signs
that indicate her age. She hopes the lines
from one too many face-lifts doesn't show.
Some powder on her face. A brush through hair.
She sees the tightness of her mouth. Her eyes
blink back at her, reflecting brief good-byes,
the day she left them all without a care.
She shrugs and wheels her suitcase, follows those
who snake across the tarmac, kids in tow.
How easy it was, once, to let them go.
How free she felt. How slowly longing grows.
The darkened windows of the hall draw near.
She wonders if they're looking out for her.
She feels their eyes. She fears what they'll infer
from her return. And how they'll first appear.
En route she'd fucked a salesman. And then slept.
She readjusts her purse-strap on her shoulder.
They must be so much taller now. And older.
She hopes she doesn't look as though she's wept.