COLLEEN ABEL
Fear of Flying
1.
Again the plane too low too crooked again
over a field over our heads over the city's
jagged skyline again the roar again the drone
the slo-mo silence the sparks the
shock again the explosion the wingtip
brushing me in the plunge I watched
from the ground always until tonight aloft
for once and angling down until the hands
of wakefulness yank me upward
gather me soothe me take the tiller
murmur something soft you'll forget
by morning sleep with your nose pressed
to the bone of my spine they call atlas lift me up
your body, most obedient machine
2.
For God so hated
emptiness he created
this
the air, promise-crammed
and us to name it cloud-
tangle, skytilt
Ease me, little pill
of language altimeter
noctilucent dead reckoning
Make me more Adam than God
watching Eden unfold on the ground
rolling out from beneath my tongue
3.
Trace it where you will
To Icarus
To window crack of broke-winged blackbird
To Christa McAuliffe and I am six
watching on the classroom television
But place me in the earth
Save the air burial
for the one who needs no arms
to take her in
Colleen Abel is the author of Housewifery, a chapbook. A former Diane Middlebrook Poetry Fellow at UW-Madison's Institute for Creative Writing, her work has appeared in venues such as The Southern Review, West Branch, Notre Dame Review, Mid-American Review, Rhino, Cimarron Review, The Journal, Ploughshares' blog and elsewhere. She is currently the Joan Beebe Graduate Teaching Fellow at Warren Wilson College. (www.colleenabel.com)