Poetry by Melissa Wold
Oh Pidge, it’s just like flying.
Amelia Earhart (july 24, 1897 – january 5, 1939)
Like Nike, were you fated to fly
from a box off the roof of Grandpa’s shed
into clouds of gossamer sighs?
Did your treetop view of birds in the sky
propel your wings of imagination to spread?
Like Nike, were you fated to fly?
In your Electra sleek and spry
from the ordinariness you fled
into clouds of gossamer sighs.
Your tenacity and daring mystify
those of us who live in fear and dread.
Like Nike, were you fated to fly?
Did you hear the hue and cry?
Your loss left the world bereft; grief bled
into clouds of gossamer sighs.
On an island unknown, bones petrify.
Your story’s end remains unread.
Like Nike, were you fated to fly
into clouds of gossamer sighs?
Melissa Wold is retired from a career in higher education. She writes with a group affiliated with Mobile Botanical Gardens in Mobile, Alabama. She lives with two rat terriers named Rocket and Spark Plug. They refer to her as their live-in help.
