As I watch the rows of houses become smaller and smaller
I say goodbye to the place of my birth.
I say goodbye to the familiar.
To the coffee shops,
and the university where I was held captive for six years.
To the lake front,
and to the home of my mother.
To my faithful dog and cat.
Also, my hair straightener—
and even my marriage.
As I say goodbye to it all,
I watch through the window
perched on the edge of seat 8F.
whether I should be up in the aisles dancing,
or crying on the shoulder of the kind stranger beside me.