Friday, May 05, 2017

sky over cairns

I wake up from row D seat 18B
to a blue so blank in the window,
as certain as azure,
if not for its escort of clouds
and the crepuscular rays
escaping through them.
Perhaps requisite at this
golden hour, perhaps proofs
of something divine,
an assurance that everything
is all well, all right.
Six hours earlier I took off
at 11:30PM from my country
of brown-skinned men
who either breathe irony
or bathe lifeless in iron
in streets or where the grass
grow thicker, as some would
leave and limn on cardboard strips
a message no one could dare unread.
At this hour the sky
in my country is dark.
Coins jangle at the far end
of the cabin, service trolley
wheels hum in their axles.
I turn my head back as if I could
tell how far away I am now,
measuring the safety of living
with what I can bear witness to.
Somewhere thousands of feet
beneath us, a reef once great,
which could be a world unto itself,
is dying, corals bleaching and breaking
like bones and brittle shanty doors.
The plane takes a slight dip
in the air for a second,
followed by a gasp that comes
from the refined honesty of ignorance.
There is turbulence.
The seatbelt sign is on
and I close my eyes as I insist
this is the better sky.

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