On Flying

Still petrified I put my bag away,

And take the empty seat, the only one

That’s left. The man beside me turns and smiles

And I look up in horror. “I’m sorry,” I say,

“It’s just I haven’t flown alone before.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He says with southern drawl.

He then proceeds to cross himself. “Just great”

I whisper to myself. The plane begins

To move and I am glued now to my book.

Now slow, now fast, now faster, bustling toward

The sky. The rickety wink is dancing next

To me its awkward dance of up and down

And up and down. “Who made this wing?!” I cry.

“And what about the engine?” I now ask.

Somewhere in front a boy is calling, “Mom!

Were I to fall, how long before I hit?”

What demon child would ask so cruel a thing?!

I ponder for a moment giving him

His answer, even draw it in my book.

I laugh, but soon my laughter turns to fear.

A bump. A shake. A noise from underneath.

My hand is clenched - how long I’m not quite sure.

“Just try to sleep.” My mom’s advice now rings

Into my ear. “Easy to say from back

On earth,” I think now looking out and down.

But in a moment, moments start to cease.

I look and see such beauty and my fear

Is silenced. Wonder creeps into my soul

And bursts it from within. I am no more.