Airplane Above My Bed by Matthew Dickman

Did I die before I was
born? Did I

have to have a body
first,

wasn’t I a nobody
before I was a baby on

earth?

Wasn’t I a sucker

in my mother’s wet
fur and organs.

I must have been dead
before anything,

before my mushy-pea
brain

sparked like a horseshoe
on a cobble street.

I want to die with love

in my arms. I want to
do it right but I just

don’t know.

It feels like it isn’t
going to happen.

Last night there was
a big 747 above

my body,
above the bed

and it was so loud.
Then it was outside

the hotel window,
the cockpit facing

the window and I was
standing there,

facing the pilots.
A little orange

light was lighting up
the cockpit

and I could see the pilots
and waved

and they waved back.


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