Flight (my soul is flying, out of Newark, Into the Sky)


the fasten seatbelt sign is on.

please put your dining trays up,

and make sure your seat is in the upright position.

Put away and stow all electronic devices.


My soul is taking flight,

and the pressurized cabin is softly humming.

I’m seated next to a man in a turban with a long tangled beard

and a morbidly obese black woman who reeks of perfume.

Their souls too, are preparing to take flight.

I press my face to the window,

and beyond the wing I see

glowing orange lights in the New Jersey night,

and the odd shaped vehicles that scurry around airyards.

The quiet mumbling of the machines multi-ethnic cargo

is silenced as we roll onto the runway,

the cabin rotating and shifting, making the babies

and small children uneasy.


The hiss of air through those little circular overhead vents

is blowing dry, stale recycled air onto my face.

This is it.

A new world awaits,

Make sure your buckled up.

Suddenly we are roaring like a train,

Screaming down the runway

Aimed at the void.

My bones and my body bounce up and down,

Bumping me against this tired looking Islamic guy

while Newark Liberty Airport rushes by

The plane charges faster

and faster,

It’s not letting up,

Not hesitating for even a moment,

A little Japanese baby has started to cry

the whole cabin is shuddering, jumping up and down,

bouncing souls around in a coach-class purgatory,

Giant steel wings flapping and beating

Hard against the resistance of the mortal world,

Breaking free

From Gravitee

Pushing, running, sprinting,


and then


Our souls have left the ground,

we are entering the sky,

and when I look out of the window

over our Angelic host’s great metal shoulder-blades

I begin to cry

(quietly, so that the Muslim guy

sitting next to me

cannot see)

as I shake off my old life,

Sliding it off like a jacket

after being out in the cold…

Below my Soul and Body, the shrinking

twinkling lights

of New Jersey

become a dreamscape in the Night

of dully glowing orange points and minuscule cars

sliding down ink-black rivers of asphalt and pavement,

The New York skyline

cutting into the Night like claws dripped in pitch,

tearing neon gashes bleeding light

and my Soul,

with body in tow,

Heads West to find the Dawn.


About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry View all posts by marcofreschi

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