Life With Horace

poetry & essays


I am

The wires look thin
that hold me up today
but they will do
it takes their strength
to float a legend’s frame
when truly whole
I knew my soul and name
before he ever did
I would be adventure
possibility bravery all of that

We left the Meadowlands
a river’s span away
from spiky city spires
and flew out over water
turning east and north
a winged pack mule
I was engined up packed
with so much fuel to keep us
out of clutching waves
it left him barely room to sit
he held the stick to fly us true
although his word was pilot
imagining he flew for history
and felt himself a hero
almost fledged

My engine and my wings
flew on god I was
brave and gallant
and did not let him down
when he lost heart
we reached the ocean’s end
on fumes crossing pitch dark
coastline almost out of spirit
he and I exhausted homing pigeons
on approach we coasted over
new green fields
to roars and cheers
and many dancing lights

He stepped down to claim his place
first as the upright man
I hoped he was
but empty of true heart
away from fame
pretending admiration
for an upraised arm that
spawned annihilation
he served us all behind the scenes
as we slid closer to another war

I hear he had great loss
knew sorrow and perhaps
was even humbled at the end
but I never felt
an inkling of that truth
now peaceful and alone
I am at rest suspended high above
the eager eyes or older memories
that know our history
and I bear witness

I am the spirit of St Louis

Day 21. The prompt was to tell a famous myth through the eyes of a minor character. I chose a modern tale. (note: I have edited this poem tonight to correct my ill informed impression of Lindbergh’s “admiration” for the Third Reich, when in reality he was an agent of the US military, surveying the strength of axis air power. His personal life was a genuine mess, but I have only hinted at that.)