Airborne
©2010, Olan L. Smith
As I trek through my place of birth
Upon a solitary viaduct―
I see your airborne form
But not by your own authority do you aviate,
Rather― you are propelled by a lone detonation.
You are tumbling downward from a darkened, tumultuous atmosphere
A churning, boiling cauldron of scorching air-
I step aside as you land hard by―
I extend my hand, surprised to see you breathing,
A living corpse with blackened eyes and snarled appendages
Through them you view my features.
Lifting one arm toward mine
I decline saying, "Do not stir―you will injure, more―
Hold fast my child."
You ask me, "Are you my guardian angel?"
I reply, "Today―I am."