It is 1943 and the world has ended as we once knew it.

I drive you to the air strip in the rain.

Purple dusky shadows slide across the strip.

I am wearing strong leather shoes with ties.

I am hoping they hold me stable.

We get out and walk towards the waiting plane.

I look back at our sturdy little Studebaker.

It pales next to the plane.

A waft of chanel rises from my neck.

Do you smell it?

We climb the ramp, you holding your luggage.

We look at each other. What do we say now?

"There will always be Portland?"

Who ever heard of the small West Coast town?

You are covered in uniform. I desperately try

to get my green leather gloves off.

I look at the small emerald ring.

At least I have something.

I want to touch your face but you scare me.

Your air force uniform and hat are so intimidating.

I hear the engines; the propellers start to turn.

A gust of air hits me and my hair is tangled.

Are you going to kiss me? Or, do I kiss you?

Stupid. Why don't we speak?

War is unreal. But, I'm going to work in a shipyard.

We already have black outs. Fear has a distinctive odor.

At least I'm not pregnant. So many women are.

They are counting on America. America is young

and full of grit and  bravery and heroism.

You touch me. You are going. You kiss my cheek.

I recoil like I was slapped. Your face turns ashen.

You disappears inside the plane. I hurry done the ramp.

I hurry to our car: your car. I sit in the old brown seat.

and wait. The plane takes off. Up into a misty darkness.

I expect it to explode. I turn the ring around and around

on my finger till it hurts. I finally feel something. Pain.

I start the car and head towards the highway.

Traveling down the road I begin to relax and suddenly

I feel relief. It is over and I will go back to life again.

And you are flying into death....