I thought everyone wanted to fly—

weightless, wingless,

pressed against the blueness of gravity

if only to look down just once,

like a bird, wondering what it’s like

to be human—

grounded so hard against the earth.

Which is why,

whenever I see a helicopter,

I always remember

those two boys, back in 2003,

weightless and wingless

as they studied the sidewalk—

neither one bothering to look up, as I did,

in absolute awe

when the sky filled with the sound of steel

and artificial wings,

which weren’t nearly as amazing to them

as the baby robin, alive,

and the blue egg broken

in the green grass.



DeMaris Gaunt



One thought on “Helicopters”

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