by Sharon Corcoran
Instructed to de-plane row by row,
instead we unbuckle before the ding
of the seatbelt sign extinguishing,
stand before we should, cramming the aisle,
desperate to regain our ground,
land where we think we can fall no further.
Not yet realizing our divided selves, the parts
still holding close those we have left
hundreds, thousands of miles behind
that still carry the trace of our hearts and minds,
like contrails of jets inscribing the sky,
slowly widening into clouds.
You think you are home but you’re still
in flight, feet on the earth
but heart stretched
between departures and arrivals.
Image via Pexels by Rui Chaves