My Paper Planes Poem Kenneth Wee File

Sometimes I imagine the planes as older selves—boys, kitchens, trains— unfolding into new air. Sometimes they are apologies that lighten as they go, or declarations given wings so they won’t be trapped inside my chest. They know by instinct how to find cracks: gutters, open windows, the hollow between two roofs. They are small boats on wind, paper sailors with fragile courage.