Row 12, Seat A

I was a little drunk
after some chardonnay
at the airport bar where
I had slouched on a stool, legs
crossed, grading
essays in purple ink. Now on the
plane, it was not
full, and there was an empty
seat between me and some
stranger. I didn’t want to
flip through a magazine
found in the seat back pocket,
listen to top hits of the 1980s,
or chit-chat with my row-mate.
I wanted a moment in my
window seat to enjoy my rare
inebriation, to let my mind
sift through sand for rubies
in the extra gray-leather space. I
wanted to gaze out the window,
to dream of leaping
onto Mars where I would
lay in its red dust alone,
making dirt angels visible
by telescope before returning,
ready to sober up.
So when the stranger began to
speak, I fantasized that I
punched him in his chubby nose;
instead, I blabbered
about how my sister
is becoming my brother,
and how my mother won’t
call him his preferred name.

BETSY LITTRELL

Betsy Littrell is a fanciful soccer mom to four boys. She earned an MFA in Poetry from San Diego State University. A superstitious Red Sox fan, she also cheers for Liverpool soccer with her other half, who makes her laugh like nobody else can. Her first book, This Woman is Haunted, was published in 2020.