By PlaneEvery Easter we would take the plane,
even before I could recall, dressed in
matching trouser suits, bearing Lindt,
in the kindly auspices of an air hostess
my sister and I would make that trip.
I loved the window seat, the dreams
being spoiled by old ladies,
being the darling of the aisle, I knew
how to flutter, playing to an audience.
I got ill one year, all I wanted was to go home
but there was no one there and so I was
me, alone, my grandmother telling
Spanish stories of her childhood
while I fevered and faded so much
a doctor came and still no one came from home.
My sister went, I stayed, it seemed like years
and then one day the fever broke and still
I stayed on and on it seemed.
Those Spanish tales stayed with me
my grandmother gave texture
and I was that little girl on a steamer
travelling to colder climes, climbing
strings, winding them around my fingers
until the plane had landed and handed
into the care, we circled in the foggy air,
flew back with Lindt welded to
my trouser suit, navy blue
suitable for colder climes.
Poetry by Elle
Read 458 times
Written on 2015-01-24 at 19:16
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