I wonder if I used to fly
When I was five, or was it
Just a lie? I can't know now
It's been erased by elder folk.
My mother told me it's not true
Floating down stairs or up
On rooftops are illusions, but
I still suspect that once I could.
My faith was crushed with her report
That flying's for the aircraft sort
And birdies too with pretty wings ...
But all I had to do was push
Down on the air, and up I went.
If then gravity did call me back
Slowly I exhaled until all
The pressure building up inside
Deflated and I did descend.
I'm thinking now that Mother lied
And like all adults she doesn't know
That body size does not bestow
Authority in affairs airborne.