Monday Afternoon at WisCon


We linger and linger

though the traffic is building

the plane at O’Hare will not wait

but we cannot bear to take

the elevator down


(if you go down far enough

the parking numbers start climbing

and there is, in the depths

an alternate hotel holding

a mundane convention)


strangers are saying goodbye

across the lobby, not quite weeping

next year, you might be saying goodbye

to them as well; how is it possible

to have so much family

you haven’t yet met?


the embraces are endless

and never enough;

the final hours of conversation

are light, inconsequential

we cannot bear to start

something real

we won’t be allowed to finish


but there is laughter at least


a month after it all ends,

you will wake from a dream

and realize that you are still

clinging, the warmth of their arms

around you imprinted, the sound

of their voices, ringing in your ears.