Tonight I am an astronaut
in between an old woman
who smells like ink, sudoku, and urine,
and a window with a full moon
that is held in the sky by a wing.
I'd like to tell her
what everybody thinks
when they fly.
I'd tell her
what it would be like
if we crashed
and I had to choose
between her
and myself.
Selfishly I would choose myself.
My mother could not outlive me.
Yet, she could be my mother's mother.
She could have seen the full moon
from the backseat of a Model T
or from her back in a desert
that is now Las Vegas or Phoenix
or full moons from ninety years or full moons.
But this plane will not crash
and I will not have to choose
yet I am still repulsed.
I'll too be old. Soon.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Yet, I promise
I will not smell of piss
or fly in a plane
without a seat
next to a window
so I could see the full moon
from outer space.