Flight Home

“I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I’m afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I’d take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you’d forget me.” Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre


The doors of


gently shut behind me

and the last brush of air conditioning

formed ripples in my shirt

soft waves –

The lingering October sun dense upon my face,

fleeting hospice breeze

at my back.


The highway began to split-

Barely deciphering exits

as my eyes were pools


uncontrollable, inevitable



The wheels spun,

rising above the pavement,

and I felt a snap

in the deepest part of my chest.


I was sure

everyone on the plane

could hear the pop,

the crack.


My work now,

with brick and mortar, is to rebuild

that string


that death, nor vessel

can sever.






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