my shoulders are two planes
waiting to land. maybe if they
grew into wings, they’d stretch
across the room. and i know
what i’m doing here–how i tend
to make music out of
what scares me.
so i’ll switch to facts:
people say i give firm hugs,
that my arms wrap all the way around.
when i swim, i reach across yards
of water, like i know where i’m headed.
one day i’ll carry my daughter
on my back, and
she’ll never be afraid of falling.
if two birds were to build a nest
in the crook of my neck,
they’ll have so much space
to call home.