Departures and Arrivals

This article is part of the Claritas spring 2025 issue, Connection. Read the full print release here.

by cameron pien

My fingers lingered on the inside handle of your car door

As “goodbye” tentatively climbed up my throat, 

Then tumbled back down in trepidation. 

My head rested on your shoulder as 

Synced exhalations saturated the space between our bodies

Before tailwinds whisked us away from each other,

And a continent wedged itself between us.

Space spins, stretches, and shifts.  

Doors that once ushered us 

Into rooms sparkling with laughter 

Become sentinels of bare walls and dust. 

Your seat at the table remains empty, 

And I wonder if the pangs of yearning will ever subside, 

Or if I should want them to …

Because when my heartstrings hum and ache 

As your voice travels across states through the phone, 

I realize that grief can lead to gratitude

For memories worth missing–

It is only because I treasure your laugh 

That I mourn the distortion of its timbre. 

Perhaps distance does not stretch love thin but strengthens it

Into an ever-swelling song triumphantly reverberating across space. 

I remember how skyscrapers shrank into specks

As I marveled at the expanse between heaven and earth and 

Wondered how tall a tree must grow to cross the chasm, 

How steadfast a traveler must be to undertake 

The journey there and back again, 

How vast his love must be to 

Descend, ascend, transcend height and depth. 

Three months later, I sit beside you again 

At a food court table in La Jolla. 

Heaven bends to brush earth here 

In a sea breeze moving over the water, 

Sprinkling sand on our sore feet, 

Tying knots in our hair–

Reunion feast, a saved seat, 

Fulfilled promises to return soon.