Lift

That moment of just before:
the plane at full throttle,
overhead bins creaking, nose rising,
wings flexing—they’re supposed to,
we hope—
all that metal beginning to catch air
and yet always
one wheel at the tail
still hugging earth, not quite ready,
not      not      not
then yes we’re up

and the young mother looks over
toward her little son who looks right back
and the flight attendant in his snappy vest
cracks a joke,
one he brought
all the way from Philadelphia
to this other life
with its soft lights
and surround-sound hum of blue noise,
this carpeted tunnel
where we’re looking around now
in our cowboy hats or dreadlocks,
suits or shorts or saris,
opening sudokus and corporate reports,

each with our chosen carry-ons,
our banged-up beliefs
and wild dreams,
all at the same exact and
invisible         velocity.

Scott Lowery is a poet, musician and retired educator, and lives with his wife in Milwaukee. His new chapbook, Mutual Life (Finishing Line), witnesses everyday life against the backdrop of turbulent times. Recent poems appear in Portage Magazine, Pinyon, and Canary. Find more, including workshops with young poets: www.scottlowery.com