spare me the pleasantries, captain. i have
learned all there is to soaring. i know the
fever pitch of departure and ascension, the sweet
swelling cacophony of hearts beating and lungs buckling.
the turbulence is the least of my worries, really.
anyone foolish enough to brave this trust exercise
must have already allowed themselves wreckage.
though the sky may be a capricious vixen, i have
faith in you, captain. i shall welcome her outbursts
with grace and delight, metal arms outstretched,
human heart undaunted. save your sorry speech
for the thinkers, i refuse to hear another warning.
but what of the keeping afloat, captain? what of the
stretching hours of monotonous humming of
machine? how do we tell apart the endless
clouds of white? nobody speaks of what comes long after
the rush of the ascent, no stories told about what lies
beyond the tempest. write me a song for the second
round of meals, for when i ask for champagne with
my orange juice, for when i have become an extension
of my seat, tell me now, truly, what you love about flying.