Flying United

Scrolling United’s movie and tv offerings

Nickel Boys, Moana, Wicked, Girls will be Girls, SNL

in the middle seat, I decide against saucier options—

Jonathan Van Ness’ Fun and Slutty, their coy smile

glowing over bare shoulders and sequin gown—

because I don’t know my neighbors, don’t want

to ruffle the window woman, hard faced, possibly

MAGA. Napping. No flight fistfight today, thanks.

I go for something innocent, unthreatening—

Moana 2—which for all I know might set her off

on an inner tirade against brown people taking over

children’s media. Uniting islands. Edgy after all. Fine.

So be it. The aisle woman reaches into her bag

pulls out a colorful hardback book and a journal

covered in Frida Kahlo, child faced, hovering

over a rib cage. I know instantly I love her

this woman, who, it turns out, was once a journalist

a teacher of journalism, who is reading a book

full of essays and writing prompts compiled

by Suleika, Jon Batiste’s wife, whom I adore.

Brief teaching/writing histories shared

I sit here scribbling beside her, new sister

gift from the universe’s good graces

Dorell might attribute to my recent time on the cushion

after a year hiatus from sitting practice. As though

resting myself open, letting go of my busy story

the story starts writing love into itself, effortless.

My new friend sits beside me. We whisper, lean in

love conspirators, mourn our country’s waning humanity

cuts to the arts, attacks on journalism and anyone

not straight and white, kidnappings, denial of due process

slashing health care, climate protection and rights.

We take hope in finding each other, talking our ears off,

as men would say, sharing our work in this world:

her support of immigrant families’ needs and literacy

my teaching children how to make art and grow food—

our school greenhouse dome partner to Woody’s guitar

ironically inscribed with a pacifist’s threat:

This Machine Kills Fascists. When the window woman

finally wakes, who knows how much she has overheard.

In a cigarette-ravaged voice she says she is going

on a cruise to Alaska with friends, which somehow

confirms my worst suspicion, and explains the husband

of her friend’s son arranged the whole thing.

It would seem nothing is ever as it seems.

Looking out the window on her first Seattle descent,

she observes, “There’s so much water.” Yes, yes,

we agree. The Salish Sea. But that is another story.

for Jeanne Jones Manzer