Broken Stuff

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It seems like the last couple weeks is about broken stuff. Angie was rear ended on her way to work. The car is broken. The refrigerator also decided to croak. Trying to catch up, gain back lost ground. We have a new car, very similar to the rudely smashed up car. I had it shipped from Texas. Also have a new a new fridge and backup freezer and fridge. Spring is very sprung. The pollen seems worse that usual this year. In Atlanta we complain about the traffic and the pollen, neither one is really as bad as we say.

Here is a poem, sent to me, worthy of repeating.

"Designed to Fly"

by Ellen Waterston


After ten hours of trying

the instructor undid

my fingers, peeled

them one by one

off the joystick.

"You don't need

to hold the plane

in the air," he advised.

"It's designed to fly.

vA hint of aileron,

a touch of rudder,

is all that is required."


I looked at him

like I'd seen God.

Those props and struts

he mentioned, they too,

I realized, all contrived.

I grew dizzy

from the elevation

from looking so far

down at the surmise:

the airspeed of faith

underlies everything.

Lives are designed

to fly.

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