Would You Trust this Plane?

Skinny outside.  Fat inside.  Cold.  Quiet.  A hibernating giant.

I tiptoe in.  I find a seat with my number.  Fabric worn.  Stitching loose.  I sit carefully.  I do not move.

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3 thoughts on “Would You Trust this Plane?

  1. You have me holding my breath .. wanting to say NO, don’t get on! Perfect, Rose! Here’s my poem response . . .

    she wills herself
    to be weightless
    singular silk
    threaded into
    this machine

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