legs crossed,you tell me

you don't understand
why my brother can't
board a plane,
send himself soaring
tens of thousands of feet
above the sea,
nothing but his fingernails,
little blue half-moons,
to keep himself steady.

why he won't hole up,
in a jet engine roar,
trust his skin
to plastic
wings
and flight attendant
fingers pointing
"first pull down your
oxygen mask..."

why he won't roll up his legs
nice, like para-cord
all six feet
seven inches
of terrified
boy.

i can't explain,
that he knows
that the two spindly legs
of a plane touching down
couldn't ever
hold the weight
of such a perfect
fear.