{"id":12389,"date":"2023-09-11T22:35:48","date_gmt":"2023-09-11T22:35:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/?p=12389"},"modified":"2023-09-11T22:43:04","modified_gmt":"2023-09-11T22:43:04","slug":"we-soar","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/?p=12389","title":{"rendered":"WE SOAR"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>
Photo: Peter Haskell<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

“We will soar, for we are armed
\nknowing where the lies land us.”<\/p>\n

My son and I recently visited New York and the 9\/11 memorial, which was equally eerie and moving.\u00a0\u00a0Though effectively a tourist attraction, it was beautiful, evocative and respectful of the souls lost. I wrote the poem below a couple of years after that terrible event.<\/p>\n

I still love flying. How human is that, to continue to take risk in the face of tragedy and despite fear? Courage or folly? Both?<\/p>\n

SOAR<\/strong><\/p>\n

Before you-know-what, you-know-when,
\nI flew in an airplane. I won\u2019t say what.
\nOr when. People are sick from it.
\nNASDAQ crashed. Family plan with it.<\/p>\n

I remained on the upswing. Going somewhere.
\nChicago specifically, e-poets\u2019 geo-conference.
\nI am digerati. A doyenne of new media culture.
\nStill, airport security confiscates my apple.<\/p>\n

My orange. Half my dinner. They take nothing
\nfrom the hinky, hacky-sacking Travis Bickle
\ndoppelg\u00e4nger who must pose more of a threat,
\nthough that\u2019s like comparing potheads to divas.<\/p>\n

Pick up my e-ticket. Wait with the other sulky,
\nwannabe passengers, SeaTac muggy as a laundromat,
\nair fouled with KFC. Machines vend to the grounded.
\nConcrete pillars tremble in the wake of each landing.<\/p>\n

Since this is before you-know-what, I don\u2019t assume
\na 747 will take out the Space Needle or land
\nright through us. I don\u2019t equate ‘jet’ with ‘bomb.’
\nI need only worry about the quake. The Big One<\/p>\n

Vancouver and Seattle\u2014sitting queenly
\nupon the Juan de Fuca fault line\u2014are overdue for.
\nI am anticipating flight, savouring my thrills,
\nbumpy joyrides, like motherhood.<\/p>\n

Junior calls. Yes dear, Mommy will be home soon.
\nBefore the split, his father cautioned us:
\nMercury in our mouths. Vaccines.
\nPopulation control. Microwaves.
\nA conspiracy of urologists.
\nFluoride. Fallout. Wheat.<\/p>\n

He has found a healer. Can he be cured?
\nWe all know I\u2019m doomed to be infected.
\nI\u2019m the one who will eat tainted salmon
\nat the barbeque, the one with stretch marks<\/p>\n

and eyes closed in the photographs. The one
\nwho defected, the one who didn\u2019t want
\nwhat he wanted, sixteen hours on a film set,
\nbaby languishing with a sitter.<\/p>\n

He gets on the phone. Another forecast.
\nI dreamed you died in a plane crash. I saw you
\nflailing about in the ocean with your books.
\nOh stop polluting my trip with your Eeyore pooh.<\/p>\n

I am part of a feminist plot against fathers,
\nand it was a controlled explosion
\nset off by the U.S. government.
\nSuddenly he is solvent, taking me to court,
\nre-staking his claim to our precious cargo,
\ncrusading to save his son from the new world order.<\/p>\n

I board. Window seat. Always, despite dire warnings.
\nJunior likes to compare the people to ants.
\nHouses are Lego, mountains, papier m\u00e2ch\u00e9.
\nWe land. Kurt appears in the flesh, our virtual rapport
\ndownloaded to O\u2019Hara minus the time-outs and errors.<\/p>\n

I feel at home in Chicago, loose in its Loop, towers,
\nArt Institute. Go to live in Chagall\u2019s epic blue
\nglass dream for a day, emerge bestowed with wings,
\nlike all his lovers and madonnas.<\/p>\n

I have not flown since you-know-what,
\nyou-know-when. We are saddled with dread
\nafter witnessing steel crumple like tin.
\nIt is safe to grieve. Cockpits secured.
\nAir marshals on board. We will fly again,
\nprepared to take down any motherfucker
\nwho thinks he\u2019s going to hijack anyone.<\/p>\n

We will soar, for we are armed
\nknowing where the lies land us.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“We will soar, for we are armed knowing where the lies land us.” My son and I recently visited New York and the 9\/11 memorial, which was equally eerie and moving.\u00a0\u00a0Though effectively a tourist attraction, it was beautiful, evocative and respectful of the souls lost. I wrote the poem below a couple of years after […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12389"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=12389"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12389\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12393,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12389\/revisions\/12393"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=12389"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=12389"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=12389"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}