Domestic flying

1.

At the airport
I am asked to check in,
My pair of lungs
Two cages of ribs
And memories of you,
for security reasons.

The rest, I am told,
are allowable carry-ons:
Two arms,
A brain stem,
Forsythias, even.

The flight is uneventful
From Queens
To Nashville to
Minneapolis.

I eat breakfast with the whirring engines.
Count calcium levels of vowels and consonants.
Think about minerals
and lymph nodes.
Observe clouds take violin lessons.

The aircraft -
With 184 pregnancies, each
the size of a wrinkled pea,
feels saturated.

We land safely.

But memories of you
didn't make it
to carousel 6
or got lost, perhaps,
in baggage claim.