My five hundredth plane ride
to New York and back again,
In the flight’s fifth hour my lips tingle,
with a newborn anaphylaxis
Is it because I kissed three different men with one face for four years?
One man always, in the bed, in the closet, in the kitchen;
held at his chest
a mirror facing me
he broke a piece of his mirror and shared
So I may shine the silver glass on him
The other man did not even know my eyes
when I apologized, he
squeezed my shoulder wishing for more
musk, stature and sinew.
And the other, I remember his shadow well;
always behind a heliotrope peering at a
patient sitting on a box covered with starched sheets;
staring at a picture of his brother, sister, mom and dad.
I wiped my mouth in circles
in the shape of one face of three men
To unlearn the lessons and fly again.
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