Flight 253 (a story poem)

Flight 253 (a story poem) In the darkness of the night, city lights, like myriad stars in some earth-bound constellation, mark the passage of the airbus. At 30,000 feet, in flight, the wings warp and shake - their shuddering felt in the seat as dense clouds finally obscure the window's view. The engines roar primeval might - bringing sleepy passengers home from diverse adventures. While aloft the world seems removed - almost a distant memory nagging at the back of the mind like something left as yet undone. Reality returns soon enough - too soon, as the plane begins its final approach. A screech of tires and a bump - once again aground - gravity bound. The interminable terminal teems with tourists - haggling over luggage like shoppers at a Turkish bazaar. Thank God for carry-on! Taxi!  The stale smell of tobacco smoke permeates the cab interior. The driver's toothless unwashed grin - a face from some foreign land - asks "Where to, miss?" in an accent that instills little confidence. Without incident she arrives at last, tips generously and walks up the path. In the dark the garden scowls its disapproval.  The walkway stones try to trip her by catching her heels. She stumbles, but recovers well. Brushing her skirt down, she climbs the stoop and rings the bell.  Waiting, at 1:00 a.m., for an answer that will never come. She comes to her senses, takes the key from her purse and unlocks the door. No one is there to greet her. "I'm very sorry, ma'am!" the officer had said. "He died instantly.  He never felt a thing." Now she must feel the pain alone. In the darkened room she sits, staring at nothing on the wall, waiting for the tardy flood of tears. Why?  She asks, but there is no answer. Love's life in an instant lost, forevermore gone, but grief remains. She drinks deeply of its bitterness and ponders her own mortality. Early morning finds her standing, unable to bear the sorrow, before the medicine cabinet. Could pills become a welcome friend, her pain at once bring to an end? Sanity, at the final moment, returns. Sobbing uncontrollably she sits alone in the waning dark, but she will live another day. One day at a time normalcy will strive to re-establish a foothold in her life, and years from now, when her true time comes, she will be ready to join him and take, then, that final flight. 12-10-2001This started as another visual image poem, but then became a story by its own demand. Written December 10th, 2001 © on Dec 10 2001 03:49 AM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl    0 • 12