She was Korean, from the south.An aviation student in PhoenixAnd me. I’d retired long ago.Wandering a while here.
Seated together I apologized.She smiled. She said there was no line.Watery diesel fumes drifted by We sipped our drinks, coffee, beer.
An hour passed in stranger small talkCountries, studies, work, life. Connecting but not connected.She used KakaoTalk, I Line.
Lights wavered in the velvet dusk like votive candles.Dinners on a boat all silver and white. A foretaste of her December wedding.
When the plane descendsI will remember her.