Something About Airplanes, Part 2 ✈️
October 22, 2019
It always strikes me as odd that more people are not glued to the window during flights. How often can you see the beautiful Earth from the perspective of 30,000 feet?
I’m always amazed how much like a quilt the land always looks, a quilt stained with enormous cloud shadows.
How, with increasing altitude, a drab and grey day is bright blue above. That blue. I try to think of a paint name for it. And the tones of white while I’m at it. There are so many.
It reminds me of a poem I wrote decades ago. When I fancied myself a poet, always having something complex to express. Making a big deal out of every feeling I had. And why not? Intuitive feelers are never without material.
In fact, I can write a poem about wanting to write a poem. And with nowhere to go and 31,000 feet up in the sky, I will.
No, not quite
There’s this thing I’m holding in my hand
It circles my palm in its center
Futile fingers about it they merely
feign the steadying of its weight
It draws my hand down, heavy
Can you see it now?
It’s blue, no not quite
A blue-green
Like a vintage kitchen appliance
or a polyester pants suit I might
have worn ironically in my 20’s
No, not quite.
A drab blue, like a worn out stuffed animal
matted by love and purpose
and other such projected security
It’s right here, do you see?
I want you to see so badly.
An inoculation, a direct hit
Everything at once
I ponder the chemical reactions
involved in your knowing
Is there an easier way?
Science, like Jesse says.
No, not quite…
Ok, that’s all I wrote. It was a really short flight. New York rose from the horizon fiercely. Back to reality, New York.
{Part 1 from 2016, with much more interesting topography.}