“My dad used to come home dark ?from
the mines and beat his day out of us.
You couldn’t tell soot from bruises
till you washed. Sometimes I dream ?of flying.
Mostly it’s that she’s come back.
We’re hunkered under the plane? and
she’s telling me a thing or two?
about a world away from here.”
– Bo McNeeley,
flight mechanic,
flight mechanic,
in the poem by
Gabrielle Calvocoressi,
Gabrielle Calvocoressi,