Poet, Learner, Librarian
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They offered me a seat up top
and I took it, not knowing
that the only barrier
between me and the air would be
slats of wood thinner than belts
stacked barely as high as a child.
I am a fetus,
swathed in the fall that has not happened,
a melody of tumble and screech
floating in gravity’s womb.
In layman’s terms, I am a fool.
Who else but a fool would think a seat in the air
could be more than a seat in the air,
or that a cradle of noise could possibly fill
the emptiness under her feet?
A benthead woman sits yards below my galaxy
taunting in her nearness to the earth.
I covet her place
would give anything to be
down there instead of here,
so high and apart and pretending not to care.
This poem appeared in the Weekly Wafer section of this website in January 2017. It was originally published in the poetry volume, Chisel (2010).
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