"On the last day of the world I would want to plant a tree.” — W.S. Merwin
  • Sheri Wright

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    Posted on April 25th, 2009sherryPoets

    She Rides The Clouds Bareback

    How else can she feel
    the roll and sweep of herself
    set loose from gruff chatter and
    sidesaddles and wedding bands
    cluttering, buzzing the air like gnats
    that compel her to reach into silence
    where currents would have her
    become the flow of her own veins.

                   *

    One last stunt-
    first to fly around the world-
    and she can retire from proving herself,
    and to herself over and over
    that size doesnt matter in the cockpit
    when a womans small hands
    can guide a ten ton tin-whistle
    anywhere she wants.

    And there are no more records to break.
    She has done them all,
    crossed both oceans alone
    with her frailness, the constant nausea,
    fatigue, headaches, despising any
    hand to help a lady cross the street.
    She was one of those
    who kicked off the training wheels
    before learning to ride,
    knew her curls would cushion her head
    if she were to fall.

    One island, one mile long to land on
    in the middle of the sea,
    miss-mapped by five miles
    is like picking the north star from the sky
    with your eyes closed.
    An un-agreed on frequency to call for help
           details, details.
    What about Morse code?
            More clutter to fill my head.
    A parachute, just in case?
    And break the spell? Do you know
    I had to drive with my eyes closed-
    though no one knew it-
    just to show I understood the concept
    of forward motion and could reach the pedals,
    shift and steer and breath all at the same time?

                   *

    Her navigator guides drink after drink
    in for a perfect landing
    on emptiness, unchartable,
    where no rescuer can find
    even a scrap of debris floating,
    only wave after wave-
    the sea licking its lips.

                   *

    How else can she know
    that even when clouds lose their shapes
    and fall into the sea
    as drops of rain,
    she will always gather
    back into the sky
    pulled up by stars.

    — Sheri Wright, originally published in Earth’s Daughter’s #74

    Look for this poem in Sheri’s forthcoming Finishing Line chapbook, The Courtship of Reason.

    Sheri is the author of Nuns Shooting Guns and Sharks Never Sleep, both from Flood Crest Press. In addition to The Courtship of Reason, she will have another book out soon titled Contains Scenes of Indigenous Nudity.

    Possibly related posts:

      Sheri L. Wright
      Donne on Sunday
      Friday morning musing
      Cats and Goblins

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