Flying Alone

Flying alone I always take the aisle; protection

Against being pinned between a stranger and the window.

But now, with you, I sit beside

The plane’s lidded eye,

Raise the shade, take in the view:

Picture-book cumulus clouds outside.

My breath becomes a child’s breath,

My heart, a child’s heart – surprised

To find: no angels strumming harps

Here on the floorboards of the sky.

No matter. I shed fuselage, wing, seat and belt,

Shed metal, shed engine, shed glass and roar –

And I fly alone – following the rise and fall

Of cloud on cloud, the feather touch

Of each puff of mountainous air

Brushing belly, arms and legs.

That night, I dreamed I was a small black bird

Flying through the air. Woke giddy in the hotel bed

Beside you; wanting to prod you awake, like a little girl

Tugging at a parent’s sleeve, saying, “Look at me!

This is happy! Look at me!”

© 2010 Tzivia Gover

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