Poetry by Francheska Marie Cortejos |

Reverie is memory refined
at thirty-five thousand feet
up in the air only glass,
two pressurized layers
separating your reflection
from turbulence. Notice how
your finger never touches
its mirror image, see
the wide gap in between.

You know the drill,
too well by now, how
seats should be straightened,
seat belts fastened tight,
tray tables stowed
in preparation

for descent,
that thud, telling.
Tires in contact with concrete,
a runway flecked with lights
guiding the way.

Thank you for flying
with us, and if this is your last

which one, this time
you wonder, is it concrete
buildings, aluminum roofs, or
sprawling greens, blue sea;

do you even still bother to
look, do you want to even
land at all?

Outside the window, you realize,
is too dark to tell you

welcome home.

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