Fly

My son learned to fly
with his own momentum.

His younger sister is almost there,
but remains rooted

by one last limb—
demure presumption.

There is no doubt
she will do it,

soar above
the downcast male gaze;

beyond Broadway
and ballerina pigeon holes.

No flights-of-fancy faerie wings—
a genuine jet, supercooled

afterburners leaving
expectations far behind.