In my windowseat—
midair—
spying on Riverside:
a ponytailed jogger, an old man walking a poodle,
a balcony of trees sweeping over the Big Rock,
cars breeze up the Henry Hudson,
four boats bump down the river,
Manhattan’s skyscrapers dwarfing North Bergen.
Dad peeks in, giantlike, fills the whole doorframe:
his round face, his fading tan.
Mira, he says, it’s time. It’s a big day.
I watch New York City blaze by.
The sun almost swallows the sky.
I’m ready.
Touching the window,
the glass warm,
I leave my very own mark,
floating up, high
into
the pulsing orange sky.