She is a fragile hawk, enclosed in sheets of metal, in plastic
Her white-boned knuckles make a life preserver of the armrest
She is falling
Falling
Falling
Her eyelids are crumpled in on themselves, trying to anchor her in a dream
She is in a car. This is but a bumpy road.
But the light blankets her skin, prying open her eyes,
and she glances at the sandy, barren world catapulting itself up toward her.
They drop
Drop
Drop
Her metal tube is sailing, diving through the stale air that punches the cabin.
She is rattling, every part of her. Her teeth, her bones, her brain, whirl around with each cave of her stomach.
A thought briefly pricks the edge of her consciousness. She wonders about death,
maybe she should pay attention to this light that is hovering,
edging under her vacuum-shut eyelids.
It is silent but for the whisper, the steady wail of wind,
and creaky hum of the beating heart of the jet.
She wants to fill the entire desert with petrified tears.
D
O
W
N.
She wonders about death,
they drop.
Rattle.
The wheels kiss the ground,
she empties her lungs.