When I flew

it was a solo flight

but I was not alone.

That esteemed friend was there

as always,

in my pockets

and my bones,

spoon-feeding life

in calculated gulps.



Strapped in tight,

make-shift plastic table folded outward,

diet coke jumped

and shifted with the turbulence.

It threatened to drench me, my

happy hot-pink tee-shirt

with the silver zipper.

I now know

that drink-spilling is far from

the worst fate a plane can meet

in life.



The couple in front discussed travel plans loudly,

providing free, non-stop entertainment

all the way to Nashville.

The place I thought would change my life.



The man flaunted gaudy gold rings

and draped his hairy arm

too possessively

around the woman.

The woman asked Mary The Flight Attendant

if she had a melon,

as though Mary paced the aisle daily

with a melon in her back pocket.

When the melon was denied her, she asked again

and my insides chuckled

to watch grown adults debate

a lifeless hunk of fruit.



The man kissed the woman on the cheek

as a consolation prize.

It was then I resolved

never to marry a man

who wore chunky gold rings in mass quantity

or cheesily-patterned shirts

too tight on the stomach.



When Mary cruised by to collect the jumpy cup,

she gave the whiny pair an extra pack

of airplane pretzels.

They grinned like kids on a birthday,

innocent.

Mary's smile was set like steel -

permanent, imprinted -

her face painted like a Barbie's

with a mouth of cakey matte cherry.



When the seatbelt sign clicked on

I peered out on a miniature Nashville

and made a wish on one last cloud

that Mary might know love

on land,

and all the earth

might take good care of her.