Pidge, don’t cry!
The box broke, but I
am fine. Pidge,
I can fly!
My head throbs. Blood
in my mouth. I mustn’t smile,
they tell me, or the gap shows.
ache. The little red plane, diving
to me at the Toronto Expo,
didn’t mention this.
Pidge, salt and sand
taste the same, everywhere.
So does blood.
I flew all around the world
to find Long Island again. It’s certainly
not long now. Am I still
on the other side of the imaginary lion?
Is that why everything is so
Solo. Doing it alone. Lindy did.
They called me Lady Lindy once.
I still miss my little yellow canary.
Fred’s sulking, he won’t answer me.
No one will answer me. Some sort of
navigator he turned out to be. As a flyer
he’d make an excellent sailor.
Solo. Fred’s gone swimming. I can see him
floating away. I’ll cook him some fresh fish,
have a nice dinner ready when he returns.
Waiting. I have unlimited hours now.
The white of the seagulls dazzles me,
their brutal blind eyes.