Barbara Crooker: Things That Can Be Doubled

VOL DE NUIT / NIGHT FLIGHT

Now, isn’t that more elegant than taking the Red-Eye?
And don’t you love it when the flight attendant
(Remember when she used to be a stewardess?
When everything matched her uniform, even her luggage,
and her makeup was heavy and impeccable?) hands
out pillows, blankets soft as babies’ dreams, eye masks,
ear plugs—everything Mother would do but tuck you in
and read you a story. Or maybe she does—think of the fable
she recites at the beginning of the flight. Or did you think
it was true, that oxygen miraculously drops from above,
if the cabin pressure fails? That your seat cushion becomes a life
preserver if you fall into the black night of the North Atlantic?
That emergency lights will twinkle and glow, illuminate your path
to the exit chute, little constellations of hope? Never mind. Relax
into your backrest of many positions. Enjoy the multi-course
many-sectioned meal brought to you hot, without a kitchen in sight.
Hear the tinkle of the cart as she progresses down the aisle,
those cunning little bottles. Put on your headset, find the channel
with jazz or blues, unscrew the metal top, sip your red, and voilà,
you’re in Paris already, hours ahead of time. So the pâté and camembert
come in tin foil, and the roll’s hard as an iceberg. Thousands of miles
are rushing under your feet beneath these silver wings. Soon, you’ll be racing
the dawn, as morning throws her rosy covers over the sky. Briôches and câfé au lait,
croissants and café noir will roll down the aisles. You’ll begin your long descent
from the land of the clouds. Things may have shifted overhead. Everyone is speaking
in tongues, and none of them are yours. You must go to le contrôle de passeports,
and you will need to declare: business or pleasure. Someone is meeting you at the gate;
he’s carrying a baguette and a single red rose, knows the minute your plane
touches the tarmac. Now you have reclaimed your luggage,
passed through customs, and entered the terminal, where your life begins again.

~~~

CONCERNING THINGS THAT CAN BE DOUBLED

Dutch jump rope, two girls in braids
twirling the ropes until they blur.
Crosses, dares, talk, or its fancy French
cousin, entendre. Header, date, breasted
serge suit. Team, time, troubles. It’s this,
or nothing. Boiler, barrel, bed, the blind’s
bind that puts us in jeopardy. Cattle brands.
Shots of Scotch. Decker buses. You.
And here I am, of two minds on the subject,
slowly rocking and talking to myself.


~~~

Copyright 2008 Barbara Crooker. From Line Dance (Word Press, 2008)

Barbara Crooker’s many award-winning books include Slow Wreckage (Grayson, 2024). She lives in Pennsylvania.