WHEN YOU LIVE IN MIDDLETOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
it’s easy to forget how to fly. So much takes off without you. I’ve seen roofs rise to meet birds in mid-air. Steam from pancakes cooking rises— so do the pancakes. They form a chorus line against the kitchen window and dance. I used to fly. As a child, my wings took me everywhere— by the way, Saturn is nice in February. Little by little my wings weakened. Feathers fell, and try as I might, I got no heft. I said I may as well go to school: gradebooks, assignments, no flying allowed. Someday I may fly again. It’ll just happen. I’ll be eating pancakes, the dining room a private airport. Look up beyond the pine. That will be me, flying, no destination.
Kenneth Pobo is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections. Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), and Lilac And Sawdust (Meadowlark Press). His work has appeared in North Dakota Quarterly, Nimrod, Mudfish, Hawaii Review, and elsewhere.