By Robert Johansson


After hours and hours of droning,

the engines sound like silence.

Ice crystals appear on the window—

black skeletal mites against

the void of ink beneath.

Moonlight trickles onto the tray table

up front, when the cabin

explosively decompresses.


The air rushing over the seats

is too loud to make sense of,

but it clears out the cloud

of condensation and dust,

and where the overhead bins used to be—

there are stars.


She’s never seen them

in such clarity. The airliner pitches down,

down, down through the perfect darkness,

and for a moment there,

she floats effortlessly

above seat 56A.


She’s not running away

anymore. Weightless

and falling, she’s

finally free.