The 11:37 Flight from LaGuardia to Myrtle Beach
I wasn’t until we were over the Atlantic
that I realized the severity of existence.
The possible vastness of eternity,
where everything rolls and wobbles.
I did not feel insignificant like I thought I would.
I felt singular,
a weed in a mother’s vegetable garden,
a cough from laughing too loud,
a drop of blood on a white t-shirt,
a highlighter, a poem, a rattle-snake,
a grammatical error.
Somewhere there is a child crying,
who forgets the reason for his tears.
The water rolls along in a watery way,
keeping safe the life in it
from everything else
and I remain I, like it remains it,
yet somehow, somewhere along the way,
I became a small detail, surrounded
by details no larger than myself.
Brent Michael Canle’s work as appaeared in The Canary and The Blue Fog Journal. He currently lives in New York City with his girlfriend. Other samples of his work can be found on his blog.