Sport 37: Winter 2009
Baggage
Baggage
The man on the wing is looking for holes
where rivets should be.
He doesn't lift his gaze
from lines of ellipses, from spotting
what might be omitted.
How can he keep an eye out for me
and not see my face filling
the window seat?
When he climbs down the ladder
I'm grateful for thuds
underneath,
where someone in the belly is stacking
all those theories about ourselves
and what we need to fly.