a poem a day for a year #17

by Amy Turn Sharp


the night before I travel on an airplane

away from these people I love

I always feel like this will be the time

there will be tiny little electrical fires

in the wing

or in the belly of the plane

and we will all die

drop like demons

 

and there was this one time I forgot to kiss the plane

yes I have to kiss it

all sly like

and so I sat the whole time in fear

like a thin limp blanket

across my sad wrecked heart

 

I tried to tell the man who sat beside of me

and wanted to talk

about the economy

that I just could not talk

that there were so many important things happening

inside of my mind

I shushed him

and sealed my eyes tight

mapped out my favorite memories

they are mostly about you and the way you drag your hand across my body

and the small ones

running in fields

of green

and old hands of gran

and me as a child

I was the best child

it was my best moment

and the man beside me breathed hard

and he tried to see inside of my ear

at my movies

but we did not crash

we did not die

that day