(sunt rerum lacrimae)
My Knee misses being climbed upon.
It yearns for the weight of that twitching body,
that sat upon it at the airport while we waited
for the plane to arrive, then go.
The red-eye flight, they call it, that early flight.
Up at four a. m. to tears and wails.
That little head filling with tales of adventure,
the journey, the flight back home to the cats,
the empty house at the other end, silent,
peaceful, waiting for the whirlwind’s arrival.
No, her eyes were not red. Her tears were tears
caused by frustration, an early awakening,
the absence of a normal routine, and as for us,
how could we be teary-eyed when surrounded
by such joy and energy? And still I sense her,
a jitter-bug bouncing for one last time upon my knee.