First Date With My Second Daughter
By Jae Newman
Heading east over the Pacific, our legs
bound by right angles, we did not speak.
Tilted seats folding back knees,
I could not sleep, red eye, or recline.
No watch could compass muted time.
Up on the monitor a small plane icon
floats along its dotted line. Flying
in a gradual arc, its speed in flux,
the Captain says we've got a tail wind
whipping us ahead, back into the past.
Here, on a Saturday we split into two,
I mark time for you. Watching you within
the womb, I just have peanuts. This theater
isn't much. But with your mother asleep,
we listen to the slap of wind and cabin
as movie after movie plays in loop,
borrowed headphones feeding
sound through skin, blood, and water
until looking around, we're the only ones awake,
our flights drifting towards order, on time,
neither wanting to be late.
JAE NEWMAN lives with his wife and daughters in Churchville. He teaches creative writing and composition at Jamestown and Monroe Community Colleges, and is co-editor of the poetry podcast series Red Lion Square.