We’re flying
in Mr. Dell’s plane!
Timothy is sitting behind me.
And I’m sitting beside Mr. Dell—
in the copilot’s seat.
Below us
lies Hillsborough,
the holiday lights,
the drugstore,
Dr. Haseda’s house,
the college and Papa’s office,
and a huge Peace sign shoveled in the quad.
There’s the Trailways bus stop outside the diner,
my school,
Stacey’s house,
and the web of roads
connecting all the places and the people in this town.
Mr. Dell banks right, turning us
away from the sunset
and toward a blueberry sky glittering with stars.
“You fly now,” he says.
“Me?”
“Take the yoke,” he says, and gives me a thumbs-up.
I grip it tight
to steady my shaking hands,
and we fly the plane together.
Then he returns us to the airfield.
Papa and Mama are by the hangar,
jumping and waving.
But I wave harder, my heart fluttering
with joy and peace and love.
I am
a daughter
a neighbor
a friend
a scientist
a poet
a future astronaut.
The stars and the moon,
the sun and all the planets,
every cell, every atom,
every single snowflake
belong in this universe.
And I,
Mimi Yoshiko Oliver,
belong here, too.
This year
I reached for the stars.
One day
I’ll touch the moon.
But tonight
soaring.
am
I