S O Bs
When taking flight, they say the riskiest part
occurs when belted-in and fastened-tight
while hurling down the runway (knuckles white)
compressed against the seat: just at the start
of instant lift, wheels in the well, the point
where power-up and V-speed meet, before
the bump (hydraulic thump) retracting whir,
with S O Bs – us Souls On Board – intent.
But engines aren’t what make the gizmo go,
or give it oomph to rocket toward the sky;
it’s down-home folk, our neighbors, you and I,
(the superstitious kind – those in the know)
the ones who finger-circle in our seat,
pull-up on armrests, elevate our feet.
About the Author
dl mattila is completing the Master of Arts in Writing with a concentration in poetry at Johns Hopkins University. Her forthcoming and former publication credits include Blast Furnace, Foothill: a journal of poetry, the Maier Museum of Art 2011 Ekphrastic Poetry web page, Poets Against War (Canada), Shot Glass Journal, Symmetry Pebbles, Verse Land, The Applicant, Lowestoft Chronicle, and The Washington Post.