Flight

Poem for January 28, 2025

Photo by Rov Camato

Flight

To be in the city was to be folded like paper
creased streets that formed triangles and squares
little origami people, the discarded ones crumpled

One lay there with a jagged opening at her side
from which paper birds came forth singing
the philosophical hymns of understanding

She and her birds had two kinds of admirers
paper-thin men who prowled like jaguars
and lovers who couldn’t make their ends meet

I just wondered how fast her little birds flew
and how many more sharp folds I would need
to make me a paper plane and get off the ground

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I’m a broken record about January being tough. It’s my Midwest nature. January is unforgiving here. When it’s cold, it’s cold. Here’s what my mom said the other day about that:

Your great, great grandma said, if you make it through January, you can do anything. We are almost 1/3 through it. We are going to make it.

Three more days and the sky’s the limit.

I went to Denver last week for a job interview, which mostly inspired this week’s poem. It was still cold. I watched the city from the 10th floor of my hotel room, which had a huge corner window. I could feel the chill seeping in wile observing people scurrying around. As for the gig, who knows what will happen? Not me, not yet.

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