Fear of Flying
For Kate
Rachael Z. Ikins (c) 2014

12 years ago almost-birthday.
Muggy July, heat embargo.
10 p.m. My thighs stuck to vinyl.
Diesel fragrant air, tired tourists,
rumpled in, jackets lumped on arms, 
meandering toward Baggage Claim.
I watched them dwindle.

All my losses, deaths, griefs-accumulated
weighted my ribs, my own stained satchel.
Corridors echoed, tourists vanished,
hydraulic doors hissed at the night
like a frightened cat.
My thighs stuck to vinyl. 

Does the airport stay open 24/7?
At “too late” a blue-suited man entered 
a secret door from the tarmac.
He carried my sharded heart,
white basket hung from one finger.
My thighs stung unstuck,
he smiled,

“Is this yours?”

I took my beating heart,
my own two hands, 
pressed my face, painful metal.
Blue crocheted baby-blanket,
two enormous ear-tips poking through. 
This exact moment

I knew your wings; 
that you had grabbed me 
by my…