*Poetry — May 29, 2021
In dreams I am a small-plane pilot
Quoc Nguyen
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In this version, I do tours: flightseeing, glacier landings.
You wait for me at home. I bring photographers to rivers
You wait for me at home. I bring photographers to rivers
where bears go to fish.
Or I deliver mail to remote parts of the state. Catalogs, mostly.
I fly in with fresh juice, frozen steaks.
I fly in with fresh juice, frozen steaks.
I spot a pair of owls on the airstrip, veer into the aspens, break my leg.
Now you’re on the radio. No, no one’s available to pick me up.
Now you’re on the radio. No, no one’s available to pick me up.
In this version, I get paid to scatter the ashes of dogs.
I fly over the city with a banner declaring my love.
I fly over the city with a banner declaring my love.
My license is suspended for substance abuse.
Grounded, I eat spam on toast. I remember I like TV.
Grounded, I eat spam on toast. I remember I like TV.
In this version, I hear love’s a journey, fly to find you.
In this version, you meet me with a gun.
In this version, you meet me with a gun.
This one’s a sex dream.
It’s all about the angle of approach.
It’s all about the angle of approach.
I fly for pleasure. In weather, I crash into a mountainside.
They identify the body by the teeth I’ve been deforming in my sleep.
They identify the body by the teeth I’ve been deforming in my sleep.
In life, they’d never let me fly.
In the shower in the morning, I can’t see my feet.
In the shower in the morning, I can’t see my feet.
Tonight, in the snow, no one’s going anywhere.
I play dead until a bear can come along to spare my life.
I play dead until a bear can come along to spare my life.
Originally published in No Tokens Issue No. 9. View full issue & more.