The First Good-bye

by Debra Lyn Menssen

At the airport we tried to be adults—

No ransacking the gift shop, or begging

For ice cream cones. No, we were old

In our Sunday bests, your new suit hanging

A little large on your shoulders, my high

Heels concealing the run in my stocking.

We had to play grown-up to say good-bye.

If we’d kept our youth we would be running,

Hiding behind plants, jeering at tourists,

Pointing in awe at slow-rising jets.

No hesitant “Aufwiedersehen” for us;

Our childlike love could not admit that yet.

We couldn’t know that life always brings change

And soon post office wouldn’t be a game.

Photo by Ned James