some more stuff on losing it….
Getting Around Town
It was late morning when she first forgot where she lived,
And deep November in northern Vermont
and the car heater was still working;
Puffing prodigiously on the way to town.
Crossing her eyes with desperation in the post office
She turned away from the simple white paper with cold black lines
And drew a rabbit on the Formica table
Lying like a morticians tableau
She turned her head very slowly as an owl does
(Not disturbing the hump in her spine),
When wondering who you might be,
Her owl eyes clicking
A slow semi circle to the left of the line
Waiting to post money or love,
Hate or anger,
Give or take,
She was looking for who she was.
She would be any of them
In the blink of an eye, if they would let her.
It was at thirty thousand feet when she decided
It was all right to die without making a sound.
The Boeing 767 was throttling through air pockets
And the flight attendant was flashing her large white teeth
When the unplanned descent began.
Strapped into her blue, contoured seat
Hair electro sized to the overhead bin
Eyes widened by lift, thrust and drag
She free fell into her own reality.
She wondered if it would hurt,
Then she thought of her children.
She wondered if there would be any remains
For people to speculate on,
Or her cell phone with final call lists.
She thought of him and imagined
Sadness like a tea bag on his eyes.
Flight was so appealingly lifeless
As if she were halfway between inspiration
Round circles in the side of the plane
From which to examine the world,
And seat belts to control reflexes of any kind.
Food brought in controlled portions.
It was easy to die at thirty thousand feet
For ten seconds