Flight

By: Yvonne Morris

Her voice on the phone whispers, Tell me.

And from the other side of day, he sleuths

through the wake of all they’ve been. He

spies a loose thread on her forgotten scarf,

this tiny clue like a tired aviator in strident

flight, the drink cart bumping down the aisle

over roiling engines. He imagines her fingers

on a keyboard, self-possessed as the stratosphere.

When she was a girl, her mother warned her,

You look at the world through rose-colored

glasses. How lovely that sounded, even wise to

prefer soft to sharp when vision is necessary. But

questions remain—should she empty the sink or

pack a suitcase? Instead, all day long, she reminds

herself that there’s no turbulence more powerful,

more carried-on-the-wind, more radical, than hope.

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Yvonne Morris is the author of two chapbooks of poetry: Busy Being Eve (Bass Clef Books) and Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). Her work appears in Eclectica, ONE ART, McQueen’s Quinterly, The Galway Review, and elsewhere. She earned an MA in Mass Communication from the University of Kentucky.