It was three days after another New York bombing
and the first time
you didn’t kiss me goodbye. Give wishes
for a safe flight, and to me it was clear—

if it weren’t for the others, you’d will
that plane to crash from pregnant clouds.
How neat,
how tidy, how perfect it would all be. Nobody

would know the coldness of the morning, how
you refused to even pretend
to hear me. How it was your mother
I touched last. Who would know

how much I drank at the airport bar,
that I worried the weight
I’d put on would be too much
for a plane to bear? No one.

You could slip on the victim’s
jacket, wear it real sharp and I,

I would die with a fall, full of grace
I never cocktailed up in life. I like to think
the descent would be smooth
as your skin and slow, so slow. Reluctant
as our restless beginnings.

Jessica Mehta

Jessica Mehta

Jessica (Tyner) Mehta, born and raised in Oregon and a member of the Cherokee Nation, is the author of the forthcoming novel The Wrong Kind of Indian from Wyatt-MacKenzie Press. She’s also the author of three collections of poetry by Tayen Lane Publishing including Orygun, What Makes an Always (an Eric Hoffer Book Award honorable mention), and The Last Exotic Petting Zoo.
Jessica Mehta

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