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Flight 3.0
5 March 2009 10:48Another idea for the flight poem. Distance countdown thing.
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Six thousand, one hundred and eighty-five kilometers.
That’s how long it is from Vancouver to Halifax. Almost the entire length of Canada. This is the distance that separates two hearts. Each beat is a struggle. Janine. I am waiting at the gate, waiting to board the impossible machine that will take me to the home where my heart wants to be. It’s gate 56. The wind speed outside is 14 knots. I am 36 years old. I have four hundred and twelve dollars in my bank account. My seat number is 22E. The plane is a 747. It’s 3:14 in the afternoon.
Five thousand and forty two kilometers.
Calgary slips by beneath me like a ship on a calm, beige ocean. This is the kind of province where one can see a storm coming for days. I’ve only been there once. I feel more comfortable surrounded by mountains. Sheltered. The wide open prairie brings out the agoraphobia in me. I realize that I don’t know if there are any mountains in Nova Scotia. It’s getting dark outside. I understand the fear of flying.
Four thousand, five hundred and fifty four kilometers
I’m struck by how long it took us to discover how to fly. The millennia of ground transport. I wonder how scared the first fliers were before the air was choked with planes. When the Wrights took that first huge leap away from the earth. When pilots shot at each other with handguns. When Amelia flew through clouds trusting only her instruments in a world reminiscent of heaven. I am traveling towards something that I have never experienced. I am traveling towards love and I’m terrified. I know how those first pilots must have felt. I cannot turn this plane around. I will land in Halifax and I will hold Janine.
Three thousand seven hundred and twenty six kilometers
Turbulence from a storm over Winnipeg hits us and I spill my drink. The man next to me moans. He’s never flown before and his nervous smile betrays the terror he feels. As the plane shudders, my imagination plays back the moments I’ve already spent with Janine before she moved away, the width of Canada away, to the east coast. The curve and sweep of her, words whispered just millimeters away from my ear. A closeness I didn’t value as much as I do now. I will the plane to accelerate through the storm.
Three thousand and eleven kilometers
Thunder Bay is aptly named tonight. The planes is kicked around by clouds and for the sixtieth time, I wonder how something that weighs as much as this plane does can fly at all or be flexible enough to take the beating that the skies are laying out. I mean, I know the principles involved but it still seems like a miracle to me. I know that the principles of aerodynamics are ruled by lift and thrust. I believe the same is true for love.
One thousand eight hundred and fifty seven kilometers
As sure as language is wind, love has wings. This air outside the plane may have once been an admission from one lover to another, hot and rising up into the atmosphere like an escaping child’s balloon. The air inside the plane, sealed in from Vancouver, may contain gasps from the west coast that are being carried east. Angles of thrust and the teardrop cross-sections of lift make a heavy piece of metal carry five hundred us impossible high into the night sky. These are the aerodynamics of affection.
One thousand three hundred and eighteen kilometers
The same principles that help missiles fly through air are the same principles that let a knife slide through meat, that let a dolphin sliver through the water, that let a cock slide deep into a lover.
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It's not done but I think it might be a step closer to the right direction.
-------------------
Six thousand, one hundred and eighty-five kilometers.
That’s how long it is from Vancouver to Halifax. Almost the entire length of Canada. This is the distance that separates two hearts. Each beat is a struggle. Janine. I am waiting at the gate, waiting to board the impossible machine that will take me to the home where my heart wants to be. It’s gate 56. The wind speed outside is 14 knots. I am 36 years old. I have four hundred and twelve dollars in my bank account. My seat number is 22E. The plane is a 747. It’s 3:14 in the afternoon.
Five thousand and forty two kilometers.
Calgary slips by beneath me like a ship on a calm, beige ocean. This is the kind of province where one can see a storm coming for days. I’ve only been there once. I feel more comfortable surrounded by mountains. Sheltered. The wide open prairie brings out the agoraphobia in me. I realize that I don’t know if there are any mountains in Nova Scotia. It’s getting dark outside. I understand the fear of flying.
Four thousand, five hundred and fifty four kilometers
I’m struck by how long it took us to discover how to fly. The millennia of ground transport. I wonder how scared the first fliers were before the air was choked with planes. When the Wrights took that first huge leap away from the earth. When pilots shot at each other with handguns. When Amelia flew through clouds trusting only her instruments in a world reminiscent of heaven. I am traveling towards something that I have never experienced. I am traveling towards love and I’m terrified. I know how those first pilots must have felt. I cannot turn this plane around. I will land in Halifax and I will hold Janine.
Three thousand seven hundred and twenty six kilometers
Turbulence from a storm over Winnipeg hits us and I spill my drink. The man next to me moans. He’s never flown before and his nervous smile betrays the terror he feels. As the plane shudders, my imagination plays back the moments I’ve already spent with Janine before she moved away, the width of Canada away, to the east coast. The curve and sweep of her, words whispered just millimeters away from my ear. A closeness I didn’t value as much as I do now. I will the plane to accelerate through the storm.
Three thousand and eleven kilometers
Thunder Bay is aptly named tonight. The planes is kicked around by clouds and for the sixtieth time, I wonder how something that weighs as much as this plane does can fly at all or be flexible enough to take the beating that the skies are laying out. I mean, I know the principles involved but it still seems like a miracle to me. I know that the principles of aerodynamics are ruled by lift and thrust. I believe the same is true for love.
One thousand eight hundred and fifty seven kilometers
As sure as language is wind, love has wings. This air outside the plane may have once been an admission from one lover to another, hot and rising up into the atmosphere like an escaping child’s balloon. The air inside the plane, sealed in from Vancouver, may contain gasps from the west coast that are being carried east. Angles of thrust and the teardrop cross-sections of lift make a heavy piece of metal carry five hundred us impossible high into the night sky. These are the aerodynamics of affection.
One thousand three hundred and eighteen kilometers
The same principles that help missiles fly through air are the same principles that let a knife slide through meat, that let a dolphin sliver through the water, that let a cock slide deep into a lover.
--------------
It's not done but I think it might be a step closer to the right direction.