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Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Instant Karma the Down in the Dirt September-December 2023 issues collection book		get the 422 page September-December 2023 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Airborne

Alison Hicks

Roundabout
My mother in a French blue suit,
heavy for steamy Hartford, perfect for 60-degree Carmel.
I’d won the argument, got to wear jeans.
Girdled flight attendant coming down the aisle.
Yes, please, to headphones, tearing open the plastic,
cord into armrest. World without parents.
First time I heard “Roundabout”
and “China Grove.”

 
Channel 9
Row made for a family of three,
me at the window, looking out over the wing,
its drooping engine. Closed my eyes and held my mother’s hand
for takeoffs and landings, chewing gum furiously.
My father and I tuned to channel 9,
chatter of flight deck and control tower.
My mother shuttled between us and the smoking section in the back.

The pilot told us when we were flying over the Grand Canyon.
People on the other side got up and crouched to see.
After the meal, the second round of drinks,
about the time you got really tired of being on a plane,
they’d come around with steamed towels
to press against your hands and face.

 
Thunderheads
Perfect song for circling, “Roundabout,”
clouds piled up like giant swirls of whipped cream.
Another time around the loop—forget connections, destinations,
everything down there shut down. Can’t we just stay here
listening, glints through patches, other planes zipping below and above?

 
Propeller
No bigger than the toys they used to offer on a tray before takeoff,
with wings you could pin on yourself, pieces of chewing gum.
There was a time: walking out onto tarmac,
stairs wheeled up to the door.
Watching propellers as they started turning
slowly, then faster, a blur,
in flight, transparent.

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