turbulence

We’re shaking mid-air,
feeling and hearing
airplane wings trembling,
water on tray tables quivering,
like that scene in Jurassic Park.
I see seats and people rocking,
heads bobbing side to side -
and I wonder who’s afraid -
who’s sweating and clenching arm rests.

Proud of my tranquility,
I peer through a tiny window,
admire blinding clouds,
above cities continuing their normal.
I gaze at mountain peaks,
see how August heat turned them brown -
my eyes trace trails that criss and cross,
leading to peaks someone climbs.

I’m calm
because I’ve always liked turbulence.
Like roller coasters,
it’s butterflies in my stomach
surprises,
ups and downs.
I have confidence
in takeoffs and landings,
in everything that happens in between.

If only I could remember that
on normal days,
when I’m nervous in my office chair
or afraid to try the next new thing.
If only I’d remember,
I’ll land no matter the middle,
and that it’s not worth gripping something,
that can’t save me anyway -
or closing my eyes,
afraid to move,
nervous to see what’s out there.

What’s out there is big and beautiful,
I never had full control anyway.
So bring on butterflies,
new sights,
unpredictable bumps.
At some point
my wheels will touch ground -
smooth or a bit jarring -
braking on the adventure.
Lights twinkling in the distance,
I’ll embrace the wonderful relief
that I went somewhere.