Finite Impressions of the Event

by

Frank Valentyn

Tail-rotor with gearbox still attached
lay some hundred meters away, he said
at the seven-o-clock
from where the main body pointed
other assorted debris-assemblies
another thirty meters
at the eight-thirty or nine
and those falls roughly dispersed
in a triangle, long axis parallel to the dirt road
and although he searched for smoke
amazingly there was no fire

Pilot and copilot were lying outside
other bodies too, thrown clear on impact
but my assumption was corrected
when he assured me that the copilot
freed himself from that flattened wreckage

After the urgent casualties were flown out
occurred my second most unwished for:
he said: there was one who, in his stretcher
started convulsing, blood-foam frothing
on his mouth, moaning, but upon complaint
the damn medic insisted he was allright
then flying out those for whom time
was neither sequence nor consequence

I wish I played no part but I’m his dad you see
still wonder how I always knew he’d be a pilot
ever since I noted:
"A wing, a word, a flying bird on our horizon"
in the lullaby poem I wrote before he was conceived
but after I conceived of him, in sequence
then, the most unwished for:
inside, when now he had time to look
the young girl captain he knew, dead
that weight and impact of the engines
flight engineer, whom, he said
head bent forward on his chest
had a grimace and other dead
and that smell of open flesh and blood
becoming more than memory
and the photo he’d taken of them all
that morning, friends, crew acquainted
and indelibly vital in that contrast

"Bet you thought I’d crashed the car"
he said, phoning to confirm his safety
before TV coverage could stun and disconcert
but my spine went quite primeval
when he assured his crew was also fine
and I tried focussing on reported details
then, "I’m coming home now"
and there was no detectable tremble
in that voice, a wing, a word
God, how I love my pilot
held him long before he returned
wish outstretched to my horizons

For Alex

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Lost Child
by: John Paul Brooks
from: Liverpool, England, UK

To visit all of Frank Valentyn's poems, click HERE

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