planes go down

A.M. Brant

say—Alaska—and I think of cold
of no light and missing 
people and rape

of pink sky. I have never seen the northern lights. 

say—Alaska—again 

and I will say Where are you
I think it was our fault
all of it, someone’s fault.

Where are your bones,
your shoes— what happened 

I need to know—We need to know—when your body in the belly 
of that plane dipped into the water—
did any of it make a sound, 

did you?

say—Alaska—say We looked for days
We are still looking
We tried to save you, find you, remember, 
but there is laughter and music
and sometimes we forget We still get lost— 

there is always dying—there is always something
falling out of the sky. 

we hear birds

in a hotel bed together, all night the call of one in particular. first time— 

I say: bird. c keeps smiling at me.
saying nothing, just smiling. 

in the morning. I realize the sleep sounds 
on the alarm clock has been on

recorded bird song calling and calling 
in our sleep 
all night I thought it was real 

what is real / recorded / remembered like that—

different than memory. can’t be misinterpreted. can’t be remembered wrong. 
personally, altered, altogether different, does/n’t matter 

body memories. idea of forgetting of what is this and this and 

c and I talk for hours. we talk in the car. in the hotel after waking. light filtering in. about women and war and
I watch his face a lot. I can’t just stare at you, I say, when he asks why. 

how the brain works. this confusing. this compulsion of chemicals. this movement of cells. knowing
how. knowing why. intrinsic instinct of need. of want.  

concern of safety. concern of clouds moving. 

what your hands are capable of. how hands—this movement of hands. this coming in hotel rooms.
erasure of space—how I will never be in this room again. how the highway moves beneath us. round
round. flat no longer exists. this idea of disappearance. 

come find me. come find me.