Out On the Wing

  The plane shifts to the left,
And the motion awakes me.
I feel the air whipping by,
Blowing back my hair,
And tugging at my clothes.
I open my eyes, and I’m startled.
I’m standing out on the wing.
When the flight attendant said,
“Free to move about the plane,”
This can’t be what she meant.
I quickly grip the edge,
Out of a phobia of heights,
And shut my eyes closed.

But, curiosity gets to me,
And I peek down below me.
Everything is like a patchwork blanket.
There are tiny people,
Living tiny lives,
Not knowing that I’m watching.
The largest cities, now so small,
I can crush them with my thumb.
I slowly stand up,
And realized that I’m not flying off.
Somehow, I’m pulled onto the wing.
With courage, I lift my arms like the plane,
And battle the wind with my fingers.
Suddenly, a shake of turbulence,
And my mind awakens.
I’m back in the plane.

I look out on the wing,
And remember my journey.
I wish it would be again,
Just one more time.