I’ve packed this bag,
Separated my share of dancehall tricks from yours
And yet the room doesn’t look different
Though I feel quietly changed.
I can still hear the music pumping my blood
More in my heart now than in my ears,
Taking a last look backward
Before yellow cabbing away.
You remain, flying where you fly
To heights I cannot follow today.
A thousand hands, minus two,
To hold you up in this air.
And, oh, to breathe you in—your smile, your joy,
The small of your back, the way you
Predictably move through this deafening crowd.
I can pick you out of a hundred.
But there are miles to bridge and time to lapse,
Lives to lead where the stratosphere is unreachable.
Wheels that come up should touch down
Until another flight brings us back to this sky.
Sitting alone now in this empty seat
Reserved to go home, like me.
I remember that I somehow forget my fear of flying
When you are with me. You’re magic that way.
I’ve always been amazed that planes can fly.
Heavy steel like heavy hearts defying forward motion.
Only faith, promise of safety, the perpetual energy of our countless hands
Will keep it above these clouds.
About the Author
Bob Leschke is a full-time physician and amateur writer. He’s working on a collection of poems involving relationships and air travel. He’s a triathlete and fundraiser for GLSEN and his writing about the subject can be found on his blog: itsnotabouttherace.blogspot.com.