The first,
A 2:20 p.m. flight to Boston
In a window seat next to my mother,
Eyes pried open for a view
Unlike any I’d viewed before:
Cars swarmed the streets like ants
and even the tallest building was overpowered
by the unyielding curvature of Earth.
I saw harmony, clockwork,
and indisputable meaning.
I cherished, I wondered, I watched
And humanity became
No more than a television screen.
And I stopped worrying
Because I saw.
The second,
A 6:15 a.m. flight to Raleigh
In a window seat next to a stranger,
Eyes kept open for a view
Like another I’d viewed before.
The lives of people I invented in my head
and assigned to different pairs of headlights
Limped along.
I imagined purpose, duty,
and bruising obligation.
I wondered, I watched
And mused about the little cars
And where all of them could be headed.
And I stopped seeing
Because I wondered.
The third,
A 7:30 a.m. flight to D.C.
In a seat between two strangers,
Eyes focused on the quiet color scheme
and the shade pulled over the window.
The placid masses carried on
With their coffee and newspapers
And without discernible emotion.
I recognized maturity as understanding
And consequent apathy
And I recognized that it was silly thing to defy
And wonder was a silly thing to force.
I watched,
But only barely,
A woman nodding into sleep
Because she was just as tired as I.
And I stopped wondering
Because I knew.