At bay

"Well, not today," I say over and over, pretending there is something I can't leave behind. And I lie to keep my ship at bay, to keep the sails lowered and the line to land. I lie to pretend that there's someone who wants me, who would miss me like I'd miss you.

Nothing is holding me here but this thread- that you'll cry out as I get on the plane "Wait! I want you after all!" Then I won't have to stay, because I'll finally have someone to hold onto in the dark, someone who will be here when I return. Someone who will hold my place in life and say I wasn't missing anything after all.

But I am missing something. I'm missing Israel and Palestine, and Africa and Columbia and everything these places could make me, just so I don't miss that last chance. But there's never just one chance, one idea. You say, "Get on" and I cling to you, because I can't imagine how I'd say good-bye.

And you would board the plane without looking back. You would send a postcard but never say you miss me. You will never let me hold you here. Foregoing life to stay at bay is easy. I have done it so long I forget how to sail.