Yesterday’s news out of SeaTac affected me deeply. This poem grew from those emotions.


At first we were giddy at the audacity
or maybe the middle finger to darker memories;
it was easy to forget with a guy named Rich
wanting to perform a barrel roll in a Q400
and see the mama orca and her baby –
dead baby,
unprecedented mourning;
fighter jets scrambled, brakes on,

We’re just trying to find a place
a place for you to land safely.
Could you start a left-hand turn, please?
That please squeezed between broke us.
Rich’s apologies and determination
to joyride his way to oblivion –
It’s burned out quite a bit faster
than I expected, he said.
I need to quit looking.


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