Minutes after liftoff
as the houses below
were disappearing
the landing gear fell off
the engines exploded
and the floor gave way
a salesman with a laptop
belted to his seat
followed me down
families of three and four
falling together with seat trays
and carry on bags
and we were buzzing the cityscape
like wingless dragonflies
strapped into cushions
scattered and speeding to the ground
in multiple pathways
like neutrino souls
indifferent to the feel of matter
penetrating the roofs of malls and stores
hitting the ground and slicing through
the surface of the earth
descending through layers of clay and crust
and molten core
our clocks going backwards
north and south collapsing in sheets
we were the dead and the dead spun round
but pulled up now
to the world of the sun again
through lanes of underground surfaces
opening up to light the way
I glimpsed a boy still in his freckles
“We’re almost there sir, looks like we’re going
to make it”
and bathed in the halo of light gravity
that is always with us
I found myself standing still
up on top with two feet
before a stand of poplar trees bristling
in the shine we share not with the gods
but with the ground
breathing in the moist aroma of midday soil
on the other side of the world.
Henry Crawford is the author of two poetry collections, American Software (CW Books 2017) and The Binary Planet (The Word Works 2020. His poem The Fruits of Famine, won first prize in the 2019 World Food Poetry Competition. His work has appeared in the Southern Humanities Review, Boulevard, Rattle, and others. He is a co-host of the popular poetry series Café Muse, presented by The Work Works press.