Just now, I am flying across Iowa,
Thinking of passing days
With uncertainties as dark as
The mid-western winter.
The pilot announced that we have
Crossed the equinox and
Are headed for the solstice––
The shortest day and the longest night
of the year.
I suddenly realize
How cold it can be in central Iowa
And ask the stewardess for a blanket.
The loneliness of the flight is
Vibrating in my bones.
I need the warming energies of hope
To fill my hands and heart
To make this poem.
I press a plastic button against the ceiling
And wait without stirring
‘Til the stewardess appears
With a pillow.
For now,
Sleep is the only cure for waiting––
Dream is the only substitute for love.