Flight Path

I wrote the first and second (final) draft of this poem on 29-Aug-2020, the day of my father's death.

"Flight Path"

​​by Geoffrey Allison || SIXSTRINGcpa
Original Copyright 2020. All Rights Reserved. ​

A grasshopper landed
At the edge of the open screen window,
And, in the near distance,
A plane engine whined and cried.

Yesterday was Friday.
In the shadow of a courtyard I held my phone, 
Pointing the speaker toward the small gaps
In the screen window made by the filaments.
For you I played Supremes and Sam Cooke.
Four Tops and Three Dog Night.
Earth, Wind and Fire.
And the Brothers: Blues and Doobie--
    while texting my own.

Overhead the Cessna soared.
It left from the private airport you used.
Sharing a flight path. Chasing freedom.
   As you had to.

Some must fly solo.
Some equipment outfitted only for one.
I have always known.

I remember your leaving.

This morning I stood in the predawn.
Staring again into the sterile room.
Again through the meshed screen,
In COVID-protocol.
A fighter. A soldier. 
A now quieted body.

They lifted you from bed to stretcher,
Like you had carried me outside,
When I was a boy,
To share with me the night sky
From the cement front porch still hugging
The warmth of the previous day's summer sun.

Were you able to turn your head,
To open your eyes,
Would you have seen me,
What with Mars,
The God of War
--the light chip--
Marching across the horizon,
My shoulder?

Behind me. Behind us. 

(​RIP, Pop)