We are at a science fair,

At the grammar school,

And my son is learning

How to make a paper airplane,

Taking a blank sheet of paper,

And folding it,

Over and over,

With his fingers.

And they still have not found it.

The missing Malaysian airplane

That left Kuala Lumpur and

How it is still missing.

The body of the airplane,

Its twin engines, wings,

Their folded wingtips,

And the people,

Because the airplane was full of people,

Two hundred and twenty seven passengers

And twelve crew members on board, or how

The youngest was just two years old,

And the oldest was seventy six, and

How officials say, we lost all contact,

Or how the people left behind,

Mothers and wives, sisters, daughters,

Sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers,

How they keep trying,

Trying to contact them,

Calling their cellular phones,

Letting it ring and ring, or

Listening to a voice mail message,

And saying it is still there.

But the people,

The people are just gone, and

The search is about signals,

Radars and pulses, black boxes,

And tracking pings,

Or how there is only silence.

And I am thinking about how

My younger son has Apraxia,

How his brain

Does not send the right signal

To his mouth and how

He cannot get his words

To come out.

Or how my older son worries,

How he asks me will he talk,

And I am watching him,

My older son,

Who is about to throw his paper airplane

Down this hallway of boys

And flying paper airplanes,

How I hear someone saying,

It’s like a war zone in here,

But my son is nine years old,

And he believes this world is a world

Where airplanes are not lost

And words can always be found,

And he is holding the paper airplane,

In his hand,

Pinching the nose with his two fingers,

And letting go.

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3 Responses to Airplane

  1. Hal Donahue says:

    What a talent! Thank you for writing…

  2. A fine well controlled poem

  3. Touching contrasts. Beautifully written. Thanks for sharing it with me.

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