The Implicit Danger of Flight


I flicked a black ant from my knee and it flew far,
an amazing distance,
so I thought of you.
Thought of your hands–
how they flickered and fumbled and ran themselves
along my back
sending me out into the long black sky,
how they kept me safe
even as they threw me into dangerous orbit,
lit up, speeding along the horizon–
like a home made rocket ship,
pieces of me chafing off into clouds of dust,
clanking and clinking,
making my racket
through time.
My eyelids flapped and all of it
My wings shook with the
urgency of air.
When I land
I’m stunned to
find I am no longer on your knee
but on my own, across the yard.
I am tempted to think
but stop the quick sketching of conclusions, resist the temptation to calculate
the danger of
my tiny place
in the giant grasses.
We are such little things,
alone on top of
white, plastic chairs
in a stranger’s yard.

My favorite poet, bringing balance and sighs to my life once again.


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