Privilege

Into this sky which has
more airplanes
than other skies
I look and see half a dozen
small whitenesses passing
like tired stars
through the blue. I watch them
instead of watching
the woman swimming
in an oversized T-shirt that clings
to her body like slime, instead of
seeing the child splashing
in his inflatable sleeves
while his parents puff on
elaborate e-cigarettes.
Instead of speaking,
I lie back in my chair that's
turned to face the sun's full strength
and try to become browner.
In this sky, planes fly
low and heavy, back and
forth from the base,
practicing war. I'm afraid
I'm finally all right
knowing good things
in me have died.

- Elly Bookman