Passport

Her beauty is an expired passport
that once took her many places,
her wrinkled fingers flip back
through its thinning pages.

Stained and bent at the edges,
it tells the tale of men in dark
suits who tattooed their stamps
of approval on her once plush skin,

marking her many arrivals and
departures. She strokes the
photograph behind the plastic
cover–the lips that sipped Sauterne

in sultry French cafes, the cheeks
that chapped in the chalky English
downs, the face that no longer
determines her citizenship.

She places the leathery book
back in her dresser drawer,
packs the last of her things and
ventures out the door,

bound for the domestic terminal,
where flights depart daily, destined
for the deep and undiscovered
landscapes of her own country.

Libby Kurz holds a BS in Nursing and an MFA in Creative Writing. Her work has been published in The Poet’s Billow, Relief Journal, Driftwood Press, and Literary Mama. A veteran of the US Air Force Nurse Corps, she now resides on the coast of Virginia with her family. When she’s not reading, writing, and keeping tabs on her three kids, she works as registered nurse and teaches poetry workshops. She is passionate about a good cup of coffee, bumming on the beach, and finding meaning in the ordinary moments of life. You can find her at www.libbykurz.com.