a routine check six to nine months
lesson in the velocity of stage four cells
the sudden gravity of it thrusts you into the pilot’s seat
navigating crosswinds struggling to keep him aloft.
ten years ago it was you facing a storm front
pulling out of a nosedive, earning your wings.
milagro the doctors called you.
death is proud and holds a grudge.
cabin pressure drops the engines roar beneath you
maybe we’ll beat this.
there’s not always time to file a new flight plan.
the pills make his angular face a soft circle of moon
the chemo takes his hair
you see him still as your love at 19, laying in st augustine grass,
writing names in the clouds
guessing destinations of planes above.
how swiftly can a jet fall from the sky?
you hold on anticipate the moment tires hit runway
the bounce the screech.
now you worry:
how long before his face disappears
• • • •
To be published in The Loch Raven Review, April 2021
Photo by Leio McLaren (leiomclaren.com) on Unsplash