Writing

Flying Baby

Created in spring 2021 for ENGL 131 (Introduction to Poetry Writing)

You carried me like I was weightless, zoomed

Me through the office, kitchen, and living room

In circles, dodging chairs and counters, spun

Me around like helicopter blades, and weaved

Me like a graceful mermaid, propelling

Herself into the ocean deep. We laughed,

You mimicked airplane noises, I exclaimed

“Again, again please, Daddy! Fly me again!”

You happily obliged. You loved it more

Than I did. All the hallway pictures prove

As much.

                 One time without a picture—not

That notorious, famed Flying Baby, which

You mention often, so exalted that

I can’t detach your feelings from my own— 

Were some years later, the night I danced on top

Of the rectangular and chestnut brown

Coffee table, wobbling under my weight

Alone so you held my hand and danced beside

Me, lifting me up in your arms so I

Could jump up high and twirling me—at least

That’s how I visualize it now—

With soft light emanating from those two

Mid-century-modern neon signs,

The built-in speakers booming our favorite

Songs: “Scatman,” “What is Love,” and “Men in Black”

So loud I feel the bass in my chest and head,

The neighbors surely hear us, and it must

Be ages past my bedtime by now… but

No matter. Grinning and singing, together

We dance and hop around the living room,

Lose track of time.

         But now, things have changed

Because I’ve changed. Now, our relationship

Is mostly over text. Gray bubble first:

“How was your day?” Blue bubble: “it was fine”. 

Gray “So what did you do? What did you learn?”

Then blue “not much”. Again gray “Well, how are

Your friends?” Blue “okay.” Back and forth we go.

This empty and emotionless exchange

Is sometimes swapped for real responses and

Substantial conversation about my school

Assignments, music, current events, or friends.

We take a few steps forward. But it is

Eventually followed by arguing,

Complaints, and criticism. I don’t text

Enough, don’t ever call, don’t ask for your help

With school, don’t share your politics, don’t read

Your articles, don’t watch your videos,

Don’t visit you, don’t respect or value you.

Well, that’s what you say, anyways. And so

We take a few steps backward. Back and forth

We go again. We never truly move,

Though. We haven’t in years.

    We make no new

Nostalgic moments, framed or not, but still,

I mimic the motions of that flying girl:

I zoom on the highway, dodging dawdling cars;

I spin from drinking too much, can’t walk straight;

I weave past my ex awkwardly, head down.

But music…yes, we still share songs, I still

Play “Scatman,” “What is Love,” and “Men in Black,”

Still think of the night in the living room. And that

Will always bring us together, at least.