Rush

My condition is non-stop flight.
The oxygen mask drops in my face.
I say, no thanks,
Thriving on lack of air.
One crash landing after another.
Turbulent days, trying to eat without spilling
Nights when all I can do is grip the bed, white knuckles and shallow breaths.
My seat mates are leaning in, reading over my shoulder.

I was hoping there was more to the journey than this.

Darcy Falk
April 4, 2001