Cessna Poem by Lisa Allen Ortiz
Cessna
The buzz and hum
of rising, throttle,
instruments, and look:
our house, our town,
the lighthouse perched,
slender scratches
of meadow, the blur
of the city and north,
the ridges and ridges,
the aerial hum of propellers, and I remember
what happened. See that. Even the Devil
looks small from the sky: his red hat,
his tiny dark boat, sliver of stick
pushing down a delicate floss of river.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 4:42:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
