Flying Home

 

Dumping the long weekend

out of mind, burying it

inside the clouds visible

from seat 17C—

 

Sorrow of fifty years’

duration scores large

stains in the sky, and

discolors the day—

 

Not only for you

but for those waiting

to welcome you home

with kisses and chocolate—

 

Innocent and un-

inventoried in what

transpired, still they’ll

suffer its flailing

 

Weight—the dark wing

you’re dragging home,

broken and bloody,

from the family reunion.