The day he left

I watched him
As he walked out of my sight,
the sound of planes lifting off,
echoing through the building.
not taking my eyes off him.
He disappeared into the rushing crowd.
I grasped tightly to the box,
his gift to me.
I smile slightly at the memory:
Seven long years ago,
I pulled out the two figures out of the box,
one of a young woman,
the other of a toddler.
the smooth marble material,
cold against my hand.
I set them on my shelf,
to remind me of the day
My father left.