The airplane bobs over the Atlantic

like a cork in a tub.  Seatbelt signs

blink mortality, ring innocuous bells

borrowed from Macy’s, the old store

on Seventh Avenue with the wooden

escalators. Will my demise

come from impact, frozen waves, or

the shark’s bloody muzzle?

–Excerpt from “Turbulence” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2013).  First published in Ambit; Southern California Review.


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