James saw the slingsby grasshopper’s high, strut-braced wings,
that open truss framework an open gate, and James trembled
and felt forever the space between him and the airplane
Like James, the grasshopper was easily dismantled,
hid in pieces while James practiced
First the wings of real grasshoppers, catch nets and wing nets,
then eggshells, until tin foil, until commissary cutlery,
until James tasting broad stripe on wing sides
that open truss network like frosting on mixing blades
James felt around grasshopper hinges, wings, joints, leaked over pieces
the grasshopper was designed to break to
James, his light oil throat closing over
him, the grasshopper,
the world compressed down
until James full of metal came to dinner
to ask for one of those things which you take from a chicken
and pull apart
meaning a wishbone
