that though life is fragile,
emergency gear is everywhere.
There’s a life vest under your seat.
EMTs are standing by
in the event of Plan B.
How many Plan A s
is anyone allowed?
Our ground time here is brief.
Check the atlas for any personal effects
you may have stowed away
since the cradle, memories
of distressed and smiling faces
when you screamed or cooed.
If you are illiterate of social cues,
check the myelin sheaths of your neurons.
Maybe nature left them
in an overhead compartment.
Dumb Luck has a limit.
If not, its harvest is bankruptcy.
You envision your life as an actor
in the flash mob who missed
that email, and thus, that rehearsal
and the solo assignment,
so you stepped out to mumble
the chorus, and stepped back
into mundaneness,
unsure of the script.
You’ve been mourning
lost moments of brilliance
so long that present ones
can’t reach you.
If only you could see yourself
from a cruising altitude
of 33,000 feet,
electric as the thunderstorm below,
shining in your unique design.
Rachel Landrum Crumble recently retired from teaching high school, having previously taught kindergarten through college. She has published in The Porterhouse Review, Typishly, SheilaNaGig, and Common Ground Review, Spoon River Review, The Banyan Review and others. Her first poetry collection, Sister Sorrow, was published by Finishing Line Press in January 2022. She lives with her husband of 42 years, a jazz drummer, and near 2 of their 3 adult children, and two adorable grand twins. poetteachermom.com is her website.
Comments