By Kendra Tanacea

A dense cloud cover.
No horizon and a faulty altimeter.

No orientating moon.
Have you flown like this before?

Hoping the disconnected self can return
from a flat-line. Apply the defibrillator,

and the soul high in the corner
will merge back into its body.

A runway lined with white lights
and the magnetic pull of earth.

Like those who stepped out of the fuselage,
wandering lost in an endless cornfield.

They never thought they were in Iowa.
They thought: this is heaven.


Kendra Tanacea, an attorney in San Francisco, holds an MFA in writing and literature from Bennington College. Her collection of poetry, A Filament Burns in Blue Degrees, was a semifinalist for the Washington Prize and a finalist for the Idaho Prize for Poetry, and will be published by Lost Horse Press in 2017. Kendra’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in 5AM, Rattle, Pearl, Pebble Lake Review, Licking River Review, Barely South Review, Stickman Review, and Moon City Review, among others.  Her website is