I fall,
from the ornamental top of a highrise building,
thirty-seven stories, yet I'm still flying,
quickly approaching my terminal velocity.

I let go,
dramatically ignoring air resistance
and even giving up all resistance,
I just open my mouth to take it all in.

I leave behind
the hand that broke a bone in this body,
the tears that accompanied years of loss
and a ticket for a plane I never took.

I threw it all
the delusive letter my father wrote to me,
the fake ring a dishonest lover gave to me,
even, the lies of a shameless husband.

Yes, one by one,
I dropped them all,
I happily stripped off, heavy layers
of make-believe that I, alone, could carry.

The burdens that
all too naturally,
stick to the skin of a woman,
I gave away to gravity.

Which one am I, the hammer or the feather?
To me the expectations of the world below don't matter.

Much better,
3:04am, 560 Madison Avenue (at 56th street),
arms open wide to the nothingness,
emptied of my earthly worries,
for eleven seconds, I fly.