Earhart to Howland
Amelia, the pool has been drained here, two solid footprints
resting in its basin like moon furrows. Just days ago the neighbors
found the body of a fawn curled beneath the water,
its velvet fur matted in slumber.
When they lifted it from the concrete
its limbs folded like wings, Amelia.
They buried it behind the church,
its edges dipped in dirt,
just another downed comet.
Amelia, I thought of you then,
your last known transmission, your shadow on the ocean surface.
Wonder if the footprints were your trespass,
if the fawn was your passing forgiveness
for all the ones who couldn’t find you in time.