I am now older than you when your body was lost
between solid and liquid

as death courted brother and foe

what thoughts rose as mountains within you
      yoke of war laying down the sun

dispossessed of youth
your name left upon my father like a mantle
to fulfill what you were denied

the aerial mission a second home, each victory
      another way you could no longer return

how long did it take you to die
the sentence of your blood like Pontus Pilate
ownership forsaken, washed

in the bowl of sky of your upturned face

      posthumously given a metal heart,
Tin Man, you are the deep

decorated by stars you will never hold
like the hands of your children.


Image by Hanjörg Scherzer from Pixabay 

Hannah Wells

Hannah Wells is a writer and artist from West Texas. She strives to capture the specificity of visceral moments found in nature and people through a spiritual perspective. Publications to date include All The Sins Literary Magazine, The Big Windows Review, Avatar Review, Boned Literary Magazine, Mojave Heart Review and others.