Jan/Feb 2011 Poetry |
Building a Plane
I never wanted commitment. I lived alone
in an apartment on the top floor.
Clouds like surf stretched towards Japan.I started work on the plane's belly,
and lived inside it for months.When Sara, a neighbor,
stepped into my room her jaw dropped.
Soon she was bringing ham sandwiches
as I drilled rivets and hung fuel lines.Every man should have a passion, she said,
helping me to hang the wings.
I ratcheted them in place. Together
we braced supports and mounted
the engine on its frames."How do you plan to get this plane
out of your apartment?" she asked.I never thought that I would get this far,
honestly. Now that the horizontal
stabilizer and the cockpit controls
are in place, I feel a littlelost. "We could do a lot more
with this apartment..."That night I opened the window
and sat in the cockpit, clouds
streaming by like water
rushing by a bank. Within a yearI would lose my bachelorhood
and Sara would move in, a crib
occupying the space where once
the right wing reached out,the plane dismantled, stored
in a warehouse, my daysof flight gone...