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