Monday, February 29, 2016

54 Kevin Brophy 'Close to the clouds, hoping to land'

Four of us are jammed in in a plane
so old there are ashtrays on the armrests.
The one propeller sounds over-earnest in its labour,
and our pilot nods to the clouds on this airy
journey we have waited so long for.
Earth slides away below us in scrawls of sandy ridges,
old creek lines, green smudges, roads
to nowhere, bare peaks where the eagles
cling to their traditions.
I see two buildings down there
with no road going in, no road out,
and later a lake with two rocks beside it;
or are they cattle long ago half-sunk
in that pale-cream clay bed?
Burning red and slow in its stillness the land
Below us waits for us and then beyond us.
I cannot imagine what it must be thinking.
We fall, floating, the land skids beneath us
our wheels slap down on stones
and we are ourselves again.


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. I feel terrified just by coming on this journey with you, word by word, line by line, image by image...
    I like the escalating tension, the drama, the acknowledgement of nature and the sudden relief in it. Good work!!


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