Spring 1998 • Vol. XX No. 2 Poetry |

Flying over the Nebraska of My Life

So much of our lives dissolves. What did I do the day before I met you? You remember what I was wearing that holiday. What did I wear the next morning? What did I write the day my mother died? I fly at night over the plains. There is a cluster of lights, a starfish shape glittering. Then darkness and darkness. Then another clump bearing long daisy petals of roadway. Then nothing again. How much of my living has fled like water into sand. The sand is not even damp to the hand. Tears and wine and sparkling water vanish all the same. I know looking out the plane's dirty window that there are houses, barns, roads, trees, stores, distinct in that darkness I once drove through. I knew them and will never know them again. The plane is flying from lighted place to lighted place, but our arc is from the dark into brightness then back into darkness. I want to possess my own life like a necklace, pearl by pearl of light.

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