On this flight, I confess to thinking
about maintenance, about repainting
the company’s sky logo, and imagine

balancing above the tarmac
on its rainbow sail
for what seems a lifetime up here,

up where everything is unmade—
tested, tasted, consumed—
to simply disappear beneath

sunset’s veil, if left untended—
or to drift into heaven untethered,
if you believe in heaven,

joining those who have faded away
like a red-laced cloud face
during this long, awful orbit,

who just yesterday might have been
out harvesting the tomatoes’
hard, green spheres before

ants and aphids could descend.
Now that
is how you stop Time—bread it

and turn it in a hot pan—watch it
sizzle and crust, then mouth it
quickly—quickly, before it cools.

S.B. Merrow lives in Baltimore, Maryland, where she writes poems and repairs concert flutes for professional musicians. She is the author of a chapbook, Unpacking the China (QuillsEdge Press contest winner, 2016), and a full-length poetry collection, Everyone A Bell (Kelsay Books, 2020).