OK, here’s what I want you to do
right after you get to your gate:
try writing a poem that is just
a list of all the names you remember
Ms. Lee calling to line up for recess,
one by one, boy-girl-boy-girl.
As you board the plane, think of it
not as a crawlspace caving in on you
but as a hallway as wide as the one
that would stretch itself out and carry
you and Hazel Errett and Kyle Calise
and Megan Perez to the playground,
where the four of you swung in sync
and swore to flunk first grade together.
Unplug the emergency exit hatch
mid-flight and light a cigarette.
Let their names fall from the sky
like credits rolling in reverse.
This is your captain speaking. Now,
remind me again where we’re going.