Take - off -- Catherine Chandler

Take-off

 

Our plane has taxied. We are next in line.
As the engines start to thunder,
my pleasure is, as usual, alloyed
with some misgiving and a little dread.
This nifty seat of mine,
explains the video, can be deployed
to float, in the event we all go under
(Hello! We'd all be dead
before we even hit the sea). “I’m fine,”

 

I tell my fellow traveler who eyes,
with mounting apprehension,
the barf bag on my lap, “I never use it.”
Babies start to wail, as if they know
dad’s grin is a disguise.
Across the aisle, in order not to lose it,
a lady clasps her rosary – the Ascension
(as glorious mysteries go)
the perfect trope. We reach the friendly skies.

 

The captain’s voice informs us as we climb,
of altitude and weather;
predicts we’ll be in Uruguay by morning,
assures us of an uneventful flight.
It’s certitude that I’m
suspicious of. Without a word of warning,
turbulence may fling us like a feather
into the maw of night,
beyond this levity. Past space and time.

 

 

Cetherine Chandler