Cousins At The Airport

I’ve seen photos of us when we were four:

Round glasses, sandy pigtails, matching grin

and nylon coats to guard against the wind

of the small seaside town where we were born.

Now she wears contacts, eyeliner and lace

while I wear glasses, sweaters and old jeans.

She’s dating someone I have never seen.

In this steel-shiny airport terminal,

she moves to hug me; bird-boned, chirpy, small,

my blood relation with a stranger’s face.