Sycamore Helicopter Pods Remind Me to Call Home

Before I forget:sycamore seed
pods spin tight circles after you
throw husks above your head
and I know this because my
grandmother loved how trees

might grow destined for longer
hang time , blamed it on Hathor
holy cow at sunset, samara keys
spinning out creation so when
sundowns later and I’m walking

my dog, I might think of her
small gestures and raise both
arms, leave me a grinning idiot
in the intersection as warm air

balances upward what I have
savored for a moment to drop
in a spiraled visual of wanting
home: that I’ve hurried the fall,

forgotten hang time, and how
long must a seed hover before
it can unfold or ask forgiveness

for burying its body in non-tree
worries like distance or time?

Am I forgetting when to land,
when to keep spinning?

-AT Hincapie

AT Hincapie was awarded the Margaret Reid Prize for Formal Verse with Winning Writers and was a finalist for the Knightville Poetry Prize with New Guard Review. He is an editor with Palette Poetry and teaches in Colorado, where he lives with his wife and their registered service pit bull.