some how

by Marie Nunalee

we
every one
in the lines of
our palms
in the curve of
the path in the
puff of a pipe lazily
hazily filling the
open gash of grey
void above
tiny matted
frames in the
pointy dot of
light
bobbing
toward us in
the night

we scoop the marbles
from our weatherbeaten
yellow grassy circle

and we stand to
locate the way

flight attendant

by Marie Nunalee

I am beginning to believe
you are in this because you
enjoy the take-offs and the
landings.

I cannot imagine it
to be for the exotic locales
that you are in this industry,
no.

it is that lurch in a body’s
center. that last attempt on
the part of gravity to ground
before the atmosphere opens
its arms.

it is the smiles, the pouring of drinks,
the squeezing
of hands,
the reassurances,
“You’re safe here.”