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