out of jfk

i liked using violet to draw mountains as a child.
i scratched scattered houses in greys, the foreground in greens
with flowers,

usually.

perfect, darling! and then
i'd find the mountains on the fridge,
out of reach,
hiding a smudge.

but soon
sunlight turned violet
to lavender
to grey.
and how fickle
brittle corners curled,
threatening to fully envelop my world.
houses became flowers became houses
became flowers
and now
as i, eleven thousand miles above you,
find our one bedroom apartment
from my double paned
aeroplane
window,
houses become flowers become houses
become
grey.

and i pray
to see between
the day to day.