Monday, April 07, 2014

Flight Path


Then only about a year old,
my daughter wouldn't remember
clinging to my shoulders
while the Aeroflot plane climbed.

Nervous fellow-travelers
sipped vodka and murmured.

She leaned into the crook of my arm,
avoiding a cloud of cigarette smoke, and slept.
My gaze was glued to a plastic porthole.

We flew into an extended sunset.
The horizon skipped elusively
along mountain ridges
until it skirted an endless frosty steppe.

At about a hair past the Article Circle,
near the edge of unbearable vertigo,
the real show began, the Aurora.

How to describe a memory of throbbing skies,
of hour after hour spent inside a dance of color?

How would I even have known where we were going, or why,
had I not been launched by a thousand tear-filled prayers?

Shivering, exhausted and in awe,
I followed the rippling ribbons of glowing green.
Astride surging waves of light,
we soared over the North Pole
in a close brush with infinity;
some soberly, while others slumbered.

2 comments:

bluestorm said...

Blessed, you, to bear witness to such cosmic wonder . . .
"How would I even have known where we were going, or why,
had I not been launched by a thousand tear-filled prayers?"
- love these lines!

Iulia Flame said...

It was the most amazing experience, never to be repeated--these flights no longer exist. It seemed as if the Aurora would never end--as if we'd fly straight through it into eternity. :)

Thank you for coming by, bluestorm.

The mountains held up the sky like pillars, releasing plumes of pebbles, streams and silt as far as my girlish eyes could follow, and w...

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