Poetry Erik Bendix — August 29, 2011 14:56 — 1 Comment
Airplanes – Erik Bendix
people disappear
into airplanes
or reappear
out of them
as if from nowhere
death used to be
hard to explain
now it’s impossible
to tell apart from
the jack-in-the-boxes
of modern visits:
friends, nieces, my mother,
in and out
suddenly oops
one of them is gone
how do I know
they aren’t just on
other airplanes
like luggage
that got sent
to Valparaiso
by mistake
some paperwork goof
is concealing
my grandmother
even though she died
with me right there
holding her hand
I had just gotten
off the airplane
One Comment
Leave a Reply to Claire B.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney
rhythmic, sad and playful all at once. this is a poem I won’t forget anytime soon. Thanks!