Airplane Lamentations
A Poem Written in an Airplane
Airplane Lamentations I’m in the sky, soaring- as they say when you reach cloud nine- Watching sheer linings, a lace veil, cover the rolling beauty beneath me. But I am not on cloud nine, so I instead wonder; What if we could stick our heads out airplane windows, Would I sing “Jesus Loves Me” while the little girl behind me kicks my seat? We, who share this space of proximity, temporarily housed in the air, Share meals but separately, biting into our loneliness, Shouldered by our neighbor’s warmth. The aisle, the street, that one shared road, Leads to a place of commonality- some seat we all choose to share- Where we exchange our germs in place of meaningful conversations. But when the cart grazes my arm, I ponder the pain; Are we ever truly healed? I hate this question and its Christian answer, For most seem to say, “only in heaven, darling.” I lament that I am forced to accept this reality- Perfection can’t be reached on earth as it is in heaven Though we pray it, though we say it- I can only celebrate some small pocket of healing. Whilst I labor in the mud, waiting for clarity in my water, Some other child endures a pocket of pain deeper than mine- why? So now I remember, the mother I loss but never had, Wondering what she felt when she swaddled me, And if it that purity remained when she triangulated me. In the distant, I watch some pixelated glory- A character who finds closure to grief- a spectacular story, A form of life I yearn for but can’t attain. I am not on cloud nine, I just hang onto life by a line, waiting For the fulfillment of some ancient word- “Maranatha,” I whisper.
This poem was birthed in an airplane while I sat processing my random lamentations and seemingly strange contemplations.
Maranatha