“The cost of flight is landing”
– Jim Harrison
You will want to catch her mid-air. At least break her fall after she sews all the little silk circles together, knots in shroud lines, and tries jumping off the barn roof. She had stolen (just a few) of the tiny parachutes she packed into bombs every day out at Pueblo Field. With her brothers flying by the light of their own flames over Tokyo’s docks, she felt she had a calling.
Or when she was younger, angry that they wouldn’t let a girl go hunting, she saved her penny candy money to buy bullets. You will want to tip their trajectories away mid-flight, when she used the neighbor’s turkeys for target practice.
You will want to spare the lift of her hand to her mouth, because roasting a bullfrog over a campfire is not the best way to find out why the French eat les grenouilles.
Because when you are her very spit and image, what is true for her is true for you.
So much that when you are a teenager, those brothers have to leave the room when you walk in, unable to bear the grief from the sight of their loss.
Because you have eaten bullfrog.
Because you love the smell of cordite.
Because your own grief needs a parachute
for every tall building you enter.
qbit 
Oh!!! This belongs with Winter Intent! You have stopped my heart with this one. (and I might add that she and I are kindred spirits – you’ll know what I mean when you read mine today, though not so eloquently written.) THIS poem… !!!
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Oh, wow! This is so powerful. I love “you will want” to do each thing because. . .It’s like the voice of a future self talking to the person.
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Thank you so much!
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Wow, this is really strong and moving. Worth a re-read.
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Thank you so much.
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Powerful, Randall.
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Thanks!
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Three anecdotes to build a whole person. I like this. And I like the sudden brevity at the end, as if grief stops words.
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Thanks!
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Very stuck by the density of your poem. The girl’s adventures are profound and imaginative flights of fancy and there is immense grief leaving off such times with becoming a woman – especially felt when seen through the eyes of the brothers. The final couplet is pure poetry!
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Grief needs a parachute ❤️
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Yes. Thanks!
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This took my breath away. Who is she the spitting image of? Mum?
Her grief needing a parachute…that is mesmerizing. You have a way with words…not quite weaving but wielding. Loved this.
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Thank you so much! Really appreciate that.
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It sure would be great to sit down with a beer and book of your poetry.
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Wow, that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said!
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