Tuesday, April 16, 2013

metaphorically speaking

Flying to Phoenix,
I picture myself leaping from this plane
high over the dreaming desert,
just to find out, once and for all,
if metaphor
can trump literal.
But, of course, I don't leap.

The pen may be mightier
than the sword, but, in the end,
I know gravity always wins.
Mountains turn to plains,
fire turns to ash,
life itself

falls to earth.

As the rising sun
sets free the night,
the pilot tells us
to prepare for landing.
The plane shudders
as its wheels come down.
No one speaks.

I always think of landing
as a kind of birth,
but I can feel the people around me
wondering what their
eulogies would be. Who
would speak for them?

How I envy the pilot staring out
at the fast approaching tarmac,
soothing control tower voices
in his head, the end of the
journey known with GPS precision.

My runway is so hard to see,
if it is there at all,
metaphors being such difficult things
upon which to land.