A Post-Plane Poem

Soon when I go to work, it’ll be dark:
the wet streets shining orange back up.
Reminds me of the plane ride, the cities flat-out
little smatters like places comets dropped
a spread-out net of sparks and then suddenly stopped
in the black lake; the plane tipped
and I saw stars.

I don’t know why, but I think of that now
when we drive down my street.
I picture this city as comet shards,
and my neighborhood, coal cooling under a wing.

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2 thoughts on “A Post-Plane Poem

  1. crescendocroise

    Oh, Hannah! This was really beautiful! I am so inspired by your poetry to try harder at mine. I just love it. So relatable and real. You can really paint a beautiful picture in my head. The plane, the starts, the wet roadways… everything was alive in my mind…

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