Far Up
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I refuse to close my eyes.
I freeze I reach out for the remote and I want to see where I am, if I am flying above an ocean, ice cold, Dark and deep, or a mountain filled with unkind Red hot stones. I don’t believe the pilot, Or the radar, or The judgement of the tower. How did three planes crash in A single year? How did the missile shoot down that plane? How did MA 370 simply disappear as though A ghost ship was not an impossibility? Then another darted down like a bullet. The software was wrong. They did not check. You cannot believe them. My plane bumps up and down like A galloping horse. It’s just another air tunnel – like A breezy wave, but my hands are numb. I am ready to fall helplessly Straight down from the sky Like a dead bird. But it doesn’t end that easily. You crash into the waves, ice cold. You fall for minutes and you watch, helplessly. And you scream. You are locked up in a cage that simply falls. And then you’re in an endless sea of Fear. Sharks start circling as you ooze out salty Blood. They say it’s almost impossible. A plane is safer than a car or a train, Or perhaps even walking. But I feel that I am falling Through a tunnel of impossible Happenings, as I fly With a life that defies reason, That’s sitting there, with a burden that Makes no sense, with stories that Should not have happened in A world that mocks. Life does not go by numbers. Odd things happen to simple folks. I don’t believe that plane. I want to walk up to the cockpit, Demand that the man who’s flying, Explain his moves, clarify he wouldn’t Commit suicide with the rest who Want to live. “Tea?” the lady smiles. My face is pale. “Yes,” I open my purse, Quickly swallow that small blue pill To sleep, And to forget. |
FARIEL SHAFEE
has degrees in science, but enjoys writing and art. She has published in decomP, Blaze Vox and various Black Ink Fiction Anthologies among others. Her art portfolio can be seen on http://fshafee.wixsite.com/farielsart |