Wing Theory by Erin Little

Wing Theory

Passengers remark

that I do not appear

frightened. I sit in

Padmasana: legs criss-

crossed, back straight,

eyes closed. Hands on

the knees, palms to sky.

From above we are a giant

dollhouse. A grade school

lesson in shapes. Tiny coarse

rectangles lined up accordion

style. Slices of harvest. The blue

circles are pools. White ones are

water towers. Lakes and rivers slash

through terrain as vague, errant paint

strokes. Roads thin as threads, manmade

veins. Palette of brown and shadow with tree

dollops I want to pluck and hold to my face.

Neighborhoods make mazes I trace

with my pointer finger. When the pilot

begins descent, I see the stars invert—

thousands of bright dots winking up.

Headlights, streetlights, quiet

lights visible through windows,

blue TV light in each home.

The sun is a runny

red pool I’d like

to dip a toe in,

I do.

Erin Little is the author of the poetry collection Personal Injury (Chestnut Review, 2023). Her writing has appeared in Crab Creek Review, HAD, Honey Literary, Maudlin House, New Orleans Review, Prelude and others. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Louisiana State University where she teaches composition and poetry.