Dad called her a princess
and mom called her Elizabeth Taylorette.
She flew for the first time at nine.
I was eleven. They told me,
“If she can do it, so can you. Don’t be lazy.”
I had no answer. I was lazy.
One Christmas, I gave Agatha a book on Icarus,
hoping she’d fly too close to the sun.
I doubt she read it. Sometimes,
almost twenty years later, she drops in
from the sky. We eat graham crackers.
She flies home. I look down
at my bare feet, so rooted to the ground
that violets grow from my toes.
Kenneth Pobo has a new book from Circling Rivers called Loplop in a Red City.