Flight
A travel poem
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Big mural with charcoal aesthetic —
paper airplane turning into the real thing,
an angel and a driver, drawn in white
like muted lightning.
In the air from Chicago, a recreation
of the painting — flying above lightning
and to the left — smudged on the dark night
shadow and light —
what people are made of.
There are many ears on the plane.
10 p.m. — A flight attendant, giddy
yells and laughs — her shift started at 5:00 a.m.
Bird’s eye view of cities lit in red and white —
the four directions. This flight is long.
Pain pierces ears with pressure changes.
Lightning sparks, illuminates excited conversations
between men about religion and who has
been righted and who has been wronged.
A compliment is given from a grey-haired man
to a college-aged kid — You’re peculiar
and that’s good.
Peculiar lightning, peculiar ears
peculiar rumbling of plane-song,
suspended in temporary conversations.
