Watermoon Arts Inc

Prior to Amelia’s Flight along the Equator:

In an old abandoned carriage
With my sisters and cousins
I discovered the joys of geography
On journeys of fabulous perils
Of all the maps that fell in our clutches
Africa was my favorite

In the bed of the Wadi Howa
Two heglig trees about
Four meters apart are ringbarked
They mark the intersection of
The twenty-fourth meridian
Rolling desert, no trees
Many remains of animals
Swamp in rain, salt-pans
Standing water until November

Africa, the very word meant mystery
Blithely I rolled on my tongue such names as
Senegal, Timbuctu, Ngami El Fasher and Khartuom
I weighed the advantages of the River Niger and the Nile
The comparative ferociousness of the Tauregs and Swahili

Back in Atchison, Kansas
Our African treks
Were on camels and elephants.
Then airplanes were of another day

Unfortunately, I lived in a time when girls were still girls
I still remember the special glee putting on a new bloomer
Tremendously daring
Nothing stopped me, especially
Not my grandmother’s stern rebuke
Girls should do nothing more strenuous
Than roll her hoop in the public square
I knew from the start that there was more fun and
Excitement in life than I would have time to enjoy
Experimentation and physical freedom –
New things, first time things

The aviation industry busy with mechanics and economics
What of the human aspect of the machine?
The lack of opportunity for girls in aviation
Especially those whose tastes aren’t routine
They don’t get a fair break.
Through generations, age-old customs
Women are bred to timidity
Reserved for masculinity are the joys of discovering what
Makes a motor go, how to bat bumps out of fenders
Among my suppressed desires
A machine shop where girls may sprawl
On their back, peering up into the innards of engines,
Getting oil in their hair and merge somewhere in
Between the scale of grease-monkeys and inventors

The hill was so icy I couldn’t turn
The junk man didn’t hear my squeals of warning
In a second my sled slipped between the
Front and back legs of the horse and got clear
Before either he or I knew what was happening
Had I been sitting up, either my head or the
Horse’s ribs would have suffered on contact
Probably the horse’s ribs

The hero of the hour
Loops rolls spins
An ace returned from the war
Two young women
A tempting target
Mingled fear and pleasure
Surges over me
As I stand my ground defying
The small plane at the
Top of its earthward swoop
As soon as we left the ground
I knew I had to fly
I could not forget planes.

During World War I in Toronto
Amelia works as a nurse and
Confronts the realities of armed conflict
Leading to her intense pacifism

Medicine interested me most
I enroll at Columbia, feed juice to mice
Dissect cockroaches, a creature with an
Extraordinary large brain

My solo flight, at that moment
I began to believe in myself
The mystery of flight, my
integration with the universe
On one hand it was dangerous
On the other, a remarkably
Spectacular performance

A camel unhinges himself in a most extraordinary fashion
As his hind legs unfold you are threatened with a nosedive forward
Then with a lurch that can unhorse, I mean uncamel the unwary
The animal’s center section, so to speak, hoists into the air
Reminiscent of the first symptoms of a flat spin
Camels should have shock absorbers and I, a parachute
Swung between two humps - a startling take-off

Social worker at Denizon House, Boston
Amelia is committed to giving girls and boys
Experience that develops a zest for life

Phone for you, Miss Earhart.
Tell ‘em I’m busy.
Says it’s important.

When I was interviewed as a so-called ‘candidate’
The first woman to cross the Atlantic in a plane
I found myself in a curious situation
If I were found wanting on too many counts
I would be deprived of a trip
If I were too fascinating the
Gallant gentleman might be loath to drown me.
Anyone can see, the meeting was a crisis
It was therefore necessary to maintain an
Attitude of impenetrable mediocrity

The man entrusted with the quaint commission of
Finding a woman willing to cross the Atlantic
His appraisal left me discomforted
Somehow this seeker for
Feminine perfection seemed unimpressed.
I showed my pilot’s license
The first granted a woman by the F.A.I.

The bride wore brown, the groom slipped onto her
Finger a plain gold band, which she never wore afterward
She kept her professional name

There are some things which
Must be writ before we are married
You must know again my reluctance
Feeling I shatter thereby chances at work
Which means most to me
Please let us not interfere with the other’s work or play
I may have to keep some place to be by myself
for how can I endure even an attractive cage

I wander if certain cruel questions loose their sting.
Interested in doing something dangerous in the air?
The frank admission of risk, did stir my curiosity.
Who would refuse an invitation to such a shining adventure?
I’d been approached before
Promised rich award and no danger
A woman willing to cross the Atlantic
Someday, I’ll get bumped off
There’s so much to do
So much fun here, I don’t
Want to go, but
What a lousy aviator
Hamlet would have made
With all his worries

Air bumps tossing one about.
Normal but invisible
The atmosphere, movements within itself
The whirl of the earth, the heat of the sun
Seeming conflict, but in fact an orderly whole
Jet streams at high velocity, a predictable pattern

Writing and lecturing on her air adventures
Editor of Cosmopolitan Magazine
Teaching at Purdue University
Amelia hammered away at he promise of aviation
New transportation, social change, distribution of goods
Individual achievement and opportunities for women

Around the world at the equator was the
Only notable flight waiting to be made

Always think with your stick forward
In other words, when your attention wanders
Be sure the nose of your plane is down
To maintain flying speed for safety

Ten seconds
A broken wing in Honolulu
Forcing me to reverse my flight plans
Aiming at continents, alright
To negotiate fresh islands
On the first part of the trip
That’s one thing
But after such toil on Electra
Howland Island, less than a mile by two