Airplane Familiarity

by Julianna May


Take your shoes off,

get comfortable.

The foot and a half

between us enough

to spread your legs,

feet crossed at the ankles.


I am just a woman

made to shrink

into faded fabric

men flattened.


I suck in;

leave an armrest open for you,

anxiety telling me

“Don’t touch elbows,”

though your greasy black bangs

brush my shoulder

as your open mouth blisters my ears.


I am just a woman

designed to suck in the air,

suck in my belly

suck in my bones

suck in so you

have room to breathe


though my breath

catches and shakes

like a clothes line

on a windless day

that suddenly sprouts rain.


I raise my head,

hide my red nose

and the rain pooling

in the back of my throat,

and suck in harder

so your balls have room to drop.



Julianna May is a poet based in Northeastern Pennsylvania, a graduate of Wilkes University’s M.A. in Creative Writing, and a high school English teacher. She has been published in Nightingale and Sparrow Magazine, Crepe & Penn, and Teen Belle Magazine. Find her on twitter: @JuliannaMay1216