I wanted to fly like the birds—
every child dreams
of cutting gravity’s bond—
and I did fly
as I ran down the steep pasture slope,
leaping skyward on giant steps
above the hoof paths and close-cropped grass,
feeling the earth drop below me.
If only for a moment,
I could touch the clouds.
Time pulled me down,
but I still dream
of leaving earth again,
making loops and spins,
looking down
on my small white house,
seeing my tiny father walking
with milk bucket to the barn,
my mother, minute, dashing dishwater
among her wilting hollyhocks.
I would ride updrafts
like a vulture
searching for the dead
in that gray valley.