Airplane Above My Bed by Matthew Dickman

Poems

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.

Donate to Poetry London

Be a part of the next 100 issues

To donate, please click on the button below, or send a cheque payable to ‘Poetry London’ to Poetry London, Goldsmiths, University of London, New Cross, London, SE14 6NW, UK.

Donate to Poetry London today

Subscribe to Poetry London

The autumn issue has been so popular that it’s now sold out – but take out a new subscription and you’ll begin with issue 113, our new Spring issue, due in March. A big thank you to our growing subscriber list for their support!

Subscribe today!