[when This Plane Goes Down I Want To Be Sitting Beside You] {for Karen V.} Comments

When this plane goes down, I want to be sitting beside you,
your hand atop mine, my hand resting on your thigh
when the air cracks in two and the oxygen masks drop
and the attendants float around the cabin like lost balloons, the ones without enough helium to lose themselves in the sky, when all the screams become one scream and we push it behind us and start to fall, your hand atop mine, my hand resting on your thigh, toward the trifling patchwork of farm and park and baseball diamond, or toward the circuit board of a city shivering.
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