Poetry

Paper Plane

A paper plane crashed into my window yesterday.
Ink dripped through the broken fuselage,
caught fire,
and the frantic letters
burned.

It woke my whole building,
the subsequent explosion
howled
like a broken bottle.
Like broken teeth
in temples.
I held you close,
and did we fall asleep too easily?
Dreaming of fingers
shaking like seismographs.

Morning breaks
over our foreheads.
Wet clumps of pulp
cling to bloodied grass blades,
and an ash butterfly
kisses your cheek.

No survivors, you tell me,
saving your tears
for a rainy day.

Grace Cohen