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.