Airplane Level
Is the pole with red lights atop a mountain
Warning flying objects of its presence
To prevent unexpected accidents.
The road is gravel and it is churning under the tires
Free falling is an option
But he knows how to drive slowly
Unlike some people.
Higher,
He promises.
But my breath is long gone
Too far gone for me to possibly catch up anytime soon.
And then we’re there
The town I’ve ran around wishing to leave since I was four
The town I’ve screamed at in agony
Somehow responsible for my broken heart
The town I’ve cried to wishing to be more
The town I’ve sighed at in frustration
Somehow responsible for my boredom.
And I look out
And it’s not a town,
But a city.
The city of lights
Lights that contain a million stories simultaneously.
Next to me
Don’t look at me like that, he says.
But in that great city below
I found the greatest treasures.
I found strength
I found love
I found heartache
I found trust
And I found it in them
And they’re staring out at the lights
The damn beautiful lights
The damn beautiful souls
The damn beautiful minds
The damn unconventionally beautiful city stories.
Stars
Silver twinkles in the sky
Trains in upstate New York filling the music behind the house I called home
Snowflakes in a Harlem Bar thrusting themselves on the strangers I wish I knew
Rain drops on Chicago pavement the night before the neighborhood parade
Flowers in a meadow being tied into poor chains to crown dark hair in a bun
Smoke rising from a cigarette next to my favorite theatre into awaiting lungs
The stars watch it all
And they make certain I never forget the reasons I like being alive.
Because I think,
Sometimes,
I forget.
I think you do, too.
But the city holds my beginning
My first cup of coffee poured down my throat behind my grandmother’s back
My first poem written in a lost notebook with a bad grade scribbled on it
My first breath of spring air running from a beige portable at three pm
My first walk down the hallways of my school with my head held high
My first love kindled in a coffee shop
My first real tears past my bedtime while singing out my window longing to be older
My first taste of young adult life running around this town in nude character shoes
I could go on
But I won’t.
Not here.
We’re here, now.
Standing by his car.
The wind is literally whipping my hair
And we’re at airplane level.
Babies screaming in coach level.
Flight attendants handing out mini snack pretzels level.
And we’re at helicopter level.
Newscasters recording traffic level.
Sky diving level.
But most importantly,
We’re at private jet level.
It’s taken oh-so long to get here
But now look at us
Plush reclining seats
Champagne and caviar
New designer clothes
Music with a classy bass
Flying over the city we once thought to be a town
Flying over the city that raised us
Flying over the city that composed our songs and choreographed our dances
Flying over the city that stretched us and broke us and built us
And we’re not that far from that private jet
We really aren’t.
For we’re already standing at airplane level.
And it only took 15 years and 20 minutes for me to notice.
