something i wrote today... i don't really know why i seized upon this whole Charles Lindbergh/transatlantic theme, it just felt right.
I buzz like a housefly, trapped in your cabin
under the shadow
of the tower,
I fell into the meal.
expensive, i know,
but it was part of the deal.
one hour, that was all,
a pittance considering
how quickly time flies.
we'd eat on this French mall,
and I'd watch your eyes.
sculpted ice bergs
and chicken,
police-line blue,
just like Lindbergh
to Paris I flew.
solo.
two tight fabric wings,
and a prayer to the Lord,
with your photo
taped to my dashboard.
above the deep blue,
interpreting
the white splash.
there was no peace as i flew
and waited for a crash.
drifting across that heaven,
of empty smoked glass,
i was deafened by prop roar,
and trying desperately to pretend
the reasons i'd flown for
were the trophies,
the press,
that ample reward.
not the rough seas
of our hearts' fraying cord.
but after i landed,
after the cameras and cheer,
i felt no great pride,
my bliss stolen, branded
by this unfair divide.
and so now we're sitting here
over chicken, wine
and caviar,
everything's become clear
i'm a trifle bought at the bazaar.
one of your hats that sit
in boxes, instead of
dancing around your head.
once they don't fit,
you wish they were dead.
in New York, when i took off,
they threw their hats
into the sea.
now seasick, i cough,
and realize that that's me.
tumbling, twirling,
a blizzard of expensive caps,
ebony snowflakes about to be bathed.
and that ocean, mirror sterling,
rose up high and waved.