Rikki Angelides
Departures
this altitude remembers me
and it makes me swell every time
it wouldn’t be so bad
but the snot and the tears
have no place to go
I rushed here
didn’t grab a napkin at the gate
I blame my isolation
always ready to freak out families
packed up for the Bahamas
it feels planned
and I’m starting to catch on
like the altitude knows the time
like the time looks right at me
like they look right at each other
like all three of us don’t have anything else to do
this will all be over
and the descent will still be wet
maybe an embarrassing reminder
that goodbye is just pre-grieving
a buffer to the possible fact
we might never greet again
good thing these flights are so expensive
good thing I have people to pre-grieve for
but goodness
time you wreck me
you move like radio
you’re cold in my socks
you’re on this plane and outside
you spend your money on games
and just when I catch on
you spend your money on me
I can’t seem to give time enough leg room
I can’t seem to give this altitude enough time
I want all of the adults I love
to never grow up
I’ve been waiting to join them
and now that I’m here
they’re going
Rikki Angelides is a poetry MFA candidate at Emerson College. She lives in Boston, reads poetry for Redivider, and currently works as the Marketing Associate at Ploughshares. You can read her work in OCCULUM, Empty Mirror, and VAGABOND CITY. Find her on Instagram+Twitter: @rikki_angelides.
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