Don’t keep driving me meshuggah,
Shmendrick, or it’s toodle-oo!
1937.My father was twenty-three
that year Amelia Earhart’s Lockheed Electra E10
revved its way across the airstrip at Lae
in Papua New Guinea, headed for Howland Island
2,500 Pacific miles away, and
disappeared—as completely as if
a slit had opened up in the sky
and she entered, back to its usual flawless blue.