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Contributor: J.K. Durick

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From thirty thousand feet it’s more of a rumor
Something hinted at by that GPS animation
They show of our flight, a distance, a drop that
Haunts us as we go, but easy to imagine though,
The mountainous swells, those shoreless waves
All around, everywhere the dark and cold of it,
This is the North Atlantic, merciless and eternal,
Its size and power become god-like, picturing
Ourselves in it, treading water or alone in a boat,
Like Cowper’s Castaway or the Ancient Mariner;
Yet the airline assures us, there are emergency exits
And life vests under our seats, the inflatable chute
Can be used as a raft, so after the drop down, belly
Down on the waves, we can set off, parts of Canada
Are only a few hundred miles away, or the Coast
Guard might get us before those mountainous swells,
The shoreless waves all around, and before the dark
And cold of it finally reminds us of our place in it all.

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J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Pyrokinection, Record, Yellow Chair Review, Madswirl, and Haikuniverse.


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