During the descent, her father stretches supine in the clouds—the wings carving out his wrist, elbow, and arm and the bed sheets wrapped around him before breaking down into seams when the plane touches down with summer baking the tarmac. Margo fidgets in the doorway, the sun noon-high, but smiles her best and clears her throat, telling passengers goodbye, safe travels, fly with us again. Is this your final destination?
William Auten – “Touch and Go”