It Was A Beautiful Day

Boston to Los Angeles via New York

‘Let’s do what the man says’
mom says taking my hand,
my feet not touching the floor
so I slide from my seat,
hard to walk to the back of the
plane.

Mom picks me up, carries me;
a little strong.

Before today mom talked
about Los Angeles
of Grandma and Grandpa,
that the city
was named for the angels
that we would see them
if we looked carefully.
This morning she talked of
angels at the airport and
when we left the ground,
my first time in the sky.
We laughed when mom said there
was one on the wing,
and I said that I saw it blow off
and climb back on again.

Mom sets me down, I stand on a seat
arms around her neck,
and we wait. ‘We are getting lower,’
someone says.
Why so worried?
There is pressure on my ears
my skin feels tight
the plane is jumpy, rough
there are turns
and an old man helps
mom and
me, so that we won’t fall
and get hurt.

Someone says something
about smoke outside.
It looks far away.
I ask, are we going there to see
what’s burning?

‘No, honey, no.’

There is noise, confusion.

Mom says,
‘Look at me, sweety! Look at me!
Don’t take your eyes off me!’

I look,
(Daddy says I have those eyes)
her eyes are wet
but she looks happy,
almost

The ground seems too close
to the sky.

She smiles.
Quietly she says,

‘Look at me, honey. Look.
Look right at me.
We’re OK.
It’s OK.”

Where are we going, mom?

‘Nowhere, honey.
We’re just taking a shortcut,
a shortcut
to the angels.’

(Suddenly far below,
on city streets
panicked people
see only
demons)

[In honor of the loving, 9/11/01]

©Bill Gnade/Sept 12, 2001