Barn’s burnt down / now I can see the moon.
– Mizuta Masahide (1657–1723)

 

Feet clutching canvas,
I sidle a bit farther
from open cockpit,
locked controls no man
now holds. No man flew before
our generation,
but women held on
as ground came out from under
their feet. Nothing new
under the sun. I rise
higher and my heels shrink
to talons, as though
the wing were a bird
caught midflight. I'm unsure who
is lifting whom now.
I have forgotten
the crowd. I reach past the edge
of the wing. Up here,
no pointing hand casts
tow ropes on my eyes, tethers
me to memory
of ground. I’m falling,
I’m flying, I am on fire
and see past them all.