Gina Williams / Poetry Fall, 2015

back to poetry



Flight to Paris

When the oxygen runs out,
Grandma slurps at the thin air
around her. I’m gettin’ woozy
she gasps.

Then, I never went to Paris,
tremoring hands gripping the empty plastic
tube, the lifeless lifeline.
Don’t wait to go to Paris, don’t
wait for anything.

I’m speeding her home,
the tank having run dry
at a family picnic. In a half
hour or so, she could pass out,
her heart could be strained
and I feel strained too,
somewhere deep inside,
each red light a siren screaming,
It’s over
every green light
Don’t wait, don’t you dare wait.

3.2 new issue fallGina Williams lives and creates in the Pacific Northwest. Her poetry, essays, and visual art have been featured most recently in Carve, The Boiler Journal, Kudzu House,The Sun, Fugue, Great Weather for Media, Palooka, Whidbey Art Gallery, Black Box Gallery and tNY Press, among others. Learn more about her and her work at


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