Next to the hole where the
wood swingset used to be
I know, she would have landed there.
Not some desolate atol in the pacific,
no, Amelia Earhardt would have landed
in my back yard, the plane
swinging to a stop where the swing sets used to be
sitting on the right wing
(never the left, oh no never the left)
holding one pinky in the air
with no gas pumps,
this airport would be the last stop.
I know she looked around
staring at the trees and the railroad tracks
if this wilderness ended.
wonderfing where she had landed.
Measuring her life in
thimbles of coffee
watching the sun setting
slowly falling asleep.
I know she landed here.