Learning to Fly
MEGAN J. ARLETT
“Do you hear the rain?” —Jessica Dubroff
One night, I thought I saw a man watching me sleep.
Days later, the front door slammed by wind,
I climbed through
a window I hadn't left unlocked.
Do you hear the rain?
I studied all the photos found in a killer's locker
marked: Do you know this person?
Open-mouthed girl on a bench, hair squalling.
I read so much about death these days, I don't know
how to write life anymore.
I saw a child fly.
Her father throwing her skyward.
I expect the wind to reveal, young men to leap
over bonfires on the beach in Spain,
birds to pull worms from drummed soil.
Do you hear it?
Each familiar mirror.
A woman dancing. The camera frame cutting
her at the chest, all fossilised smile
and limbs extended, her dried wings.