“She’s an Artist – She Don’t Look Back” by Jill Sebacher

She strides beside me through the airport throng,
Hand pressed firmly in mine, a mother’s
Enchantment against too many strangers.

Blondish curls bounce against six-year-old shoulders;
Eyes, gumball-wide, scan the long queue at security,
Look back up at me. Months ago, she announced after school
On September 12th: I’m never getting on a plane again, not even to see Gram.
News, carefully kept away the day before, had leaked down the
Grade-school network to kindergarten: Planes fly into buildings, Mama,
She relayed matter-of-factly from the minivan’s backseat, and now,

Ticket scanned, she waves once, blows me a kiss. The first
One down the jet bridge—she marches straight on, having learned

Men, not planes, fly into buildings. I watch the jetway swallow her
Expect a glance back for assurance, but she doesn’t know I need one.