Contrails

by Megan Brown

Do you think,
at this altitude / we leave
footprints on the clouds? / or like feet
in the ocean are they swept / away in wind-tide.
Wind tied up in our hair / pressing every direction but home
it erases the traces of years / left behind, so high
we are swimmers / drowning an act of faith
when the air leaves / us
light-headed.

Light, headed
over cloud-cobbles / to greet us
in a wash of pink / seeping through the air,
and we are waves / in the great blue sky, learning to
fall. Gravity a riptide, / no side to swim to,
but this current we can ride.

Catch in the cradle
of the wind, wings / spread wide
to coast, / and see our exhale like sea-foam
still pointing home, if
we ever want to
land.

Megan Brown is an emerging writer and poet from upstate New York with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing from Roanoke College. She is currently based in Northern Virginia and her interests include Greek Mythology, writing book and movie reviews for her blog, and hanging out with her roommate and two cats, Nyx and Stella. Megan has been previously published in Eclectica, Slippery Elm, and Penumbra.