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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.
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“Double dose of delight” is right! I love Barbara Crooker’s poems and often share them with my poetry students 🙂
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Such joy, Barbara. The craft, the fun, the images, the memories… and it brought back my first flight with the no longer existing Belgian airline Sabena, the first commercial jet plane, the Caravelle: you entered at the tail end. And how I admired those stewardesses. Picture-book women. Wow! and I was 18 and hat a ticket written by hand.
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Thanks, Rosemary, for these really kind remarks!
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Love these, esp. the doubles one! Bravissima!
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Send this to a friend who was one of the stewardesses who were not allowed to be married and she responded “O, the good old days, gone forever!”
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“Sent”—damn autocorrect (or maybe fumble fingers)
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When I saw the title “Vol de Nuit” I immediately thought of that fascinating book by Antoine de St Exupéry (who was an “Airmail pilot” in the late 1920s)) with the same title, and was impatient to read Barbara Crooker’s experience of flying overnight. What a perfect description she brings us of those interminably long “out of time” hours of the red-eye flights to Europe! And in contrast to “Night Flight’s” long, narrative, detail-rich lines, how well the choice of a brief poem with a much more abrupt syntax succeeds in describing the little jumps (& enjambments) in the jump-rope poem. Such contrast — such craft!
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Wow, thanks for these very kind words. I worked like a coal miner on that one; physically hard labor!
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Such a delight. I saw Barbara’s name so read it first. Now I wish I could go back to bed and dream of jump ropes and baguettes.
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Well, we can dream, right? Thanks for the good words!
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Barbara: You double me over in delight with these writings! In our lifetime, decorum has been commodified in the business of getting somewhere but it comes for free, lock, stock and barrel, in a Barbara Crooker poem!
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You are delighting me with your kind comments, Sean!
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Wonderful poems! I echo Luray: A double dose of delight!
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Thanks, Christine!
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Thanks, Luray! You’ve made MY day!
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Thanks for this double dose of delight. Such a salutary way to be readied to face the day.
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