Small Plane
John G. Young, M.D.
A passenger—
I step on the wing,
Enter with head bowed,
And make my way aft.
The fuselage shrinks,
A child’s playhouse becoming smaller.
I sit down, draw up my legs,
Then tighten the belt across my belly—
We are one.
The plane accelerates,
Thrusts me back against the seat.
The familiar world sinks away.
Unintelligible sounds sift overhead.
I drift off to sleep—
Floating up and down,
And side to side,
I dream old dreams.
I bob for hours
In that cloudless sea
Till a sudden jolt awakens me.
I gather myself to depart
That warm womb.
Again I must leave.