Holding Pattern Poem by Timothy Liu

Intermittent wet under
cloud cover, dry
where you are. All day
this rain without
you—so many planes
above the cloud line
carrying strangers
either closer or
farther away from
one another while
you and I remain
grounded. Are we
moving anyway
towards something
finer than what the day
might bring or is this
an illusion, a stay
against everything
unforeseen—tiny bottles
clinking as the carts
make their way down
the narrow aisle
no matter what
class we find ourselves
seated in, your voice
the captain's voice
even if the masks
do not inflate
and there's no one
here to help me
put mine on first—
my head cradled
between your knees.