Gravitational Pull
(Or, Why I Am Drawn to Write Poems)
After the Big Bang of my own small birth,
That explosion into cold air and consciousness,
I yearned to experience life on this turning earth.
Like you, I became my own witness,
My own black box recording device.
I notice the joys of taking off, of soaring;
That confidence of cruising altitude
And the power of all engines humming;
As well the certainties of humdrum descent—
The end of a day, a current era—aware
Of one guarantee: one day going down
In flames, arcing to a place of no return.
Hoping only to leave one lingering word or two:
My shifting joys and sorrows, my point of view.
Leslie Schultz
I suppose this is a continuation of yesterday’s trio of brief images comparing flight and writing.
Until Tomorrow!
Leslie
Yes! This was taken on our wedding anniversary in 2012.
Thank you! I realized that I was juggling all kinds of thoughts that didn’t really make it onto the page, including the idea of the black box theater (last night I saw part of a National Theatre in London production–streamed–of As You Like It–and also of Yeats’ poem, which I love so much, “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death” and Mary Jo Salter’s poem, “Over and Out,” from her newest book, Nothing By Design. Oh, and the astrophysics idea of dark matter. I am really happy the the editing out of these ideas made for a clear poem! (Maybe I will end up with a new poem or two from the cutting room floor material!) Really apppreciate your comment, Stella.
Butterfly, and heart.
Your handling of this extended metaphor of flight is excellent!