Flight

--by Batsheva Lasky

The pull in your stomach
as you begin to fall.
The scream of wind in your ears
as gravity grabs you
into its greedy embrace.
The tug of your shoulders as wings
black as a moonless night, light as the sun’s rays
stretch out from your shoulder blades,
like a cat in the sun,
stretching towards the heavens.
And you soar.
The clouds part before you as you make the sky your own,
turning and wheeling with the hawks.
Fighting gravity. Fighting time.
The summit of your youth flashes by as you climb higher still.
Surmounting your past.
But like paper to flame, your wings crumble to mourners ash
as the sun greets you with the heat of the day.
The smoke fills your nose, the ash your eyes.
You turn and wheel but the hawks are gone.
Blue above and below as they merge into one.
Fear pulls your stomach
as you begin to fall.