Today, I go to California. To L.A. To vacation. To some sense of I’m out of here.
I don’t have long before I board, but I wanted to write a poem about airplanes (because I’m amazingly
weird wonderful like that).
An on-the-spot poem about airplane windows:
The window, rectangular and unclear,
beckons mouths into an O
and hands like suction cups,
splayed wide-fingered on the plastic casing,
blow fingerprint kisses to the sky.