Your Night Flight For Me

Dad used to loom, over you, because he was the man, and men were large there. 

But came time, you bucked up, and looked up, at the man, larger and stronger there, and told him your plan:  to leave there behind. 

Your small lips talked him into it, through it, your small hands filled out forms, your small feet stood in Embassy lines to submit them, then walked home.  To wait. 

True, you grew up to bootlegged Beatles, true, you loved the bell-bottomed West.  But you weren’t Westbound for you or your husband, the one who was larger, and heavy to push.

And you pushed because, small as you are, smaller and weaker there, it was you with the big hopes, the big eyes that saw:  My future here as a winner.  My future here as a gift.   

Wrapping heirlooms in newspaper, printed with beautiful lies about there, the truth you had gathered for years gave you courage to trade strangers' cash for our family things.  
 
And when all said, done, sold, there was five hundred dollars, ten suitcases, and a night flight, into black. 
 
And you woke us up for it, and we weren’t happy, and I started crying outside of our door. 

“I want to go home Mom!”  I told you, remember?  And now you cried with me, but lead me away. 

From my future there as a mail order bride.

From my future there as a blank. 

From my future there as small and as weak, you took me away by the hand. 

And the plane was enormous, and so was its roar, and I don’t understand to this day.  How you carried me:  in your stomach, across oceans, over slobbering mouths of gigantic fear-demons…  How is it possible, small as you are?    

[296 words]