she wants to build a plane
with sheets of aluminum and
finger paint. the cockpit will sit
around her head, her wings
reaching the tips of her fingers;
on her nose will hang a propeller.
she will turn her radio off,
the silence fueling her ascent.
her hair might get tangled
in telephone wires but she will relish
the burn of her scalp as her
too wild, too long, too big hair
is uprooted. she’ll think
my, my! such air, such freedom!
as the wind feels only her skin.
her nose might be running,
her ears turning white and chilled,
but home hasn’t been warm in a while.
so she’ll stick with her duct tape,
her cardboard rudder, and figure out
where to land when the sun starts
to leave her. when the tips of pine trees
leave bitter red lines down her thighs,
she will not cry. she will ignore
the fingers pointing up at her, the shouts.
her exhaust port will exhale, her eyes
will stay shut, she will never
Delaney is a writer, which in her eyes makes her both a lover and a fighter. She is currently studying creative writing and cinema at Elon University and hopes to one day write screenplays that are both inclusive and provocative, and hopefully make a living out of it. She loves jokes with wordplay, baby animals and strong female characters. She hopes to become one of those one day. A baby otter is preferable.