Above her toes, from where she lay
Reclining at bed’s edge,
She glimpsed a light pass through the night
Above the window ledge.
The plane began its last approach,
A beacon locked it in—
The landing gear would next descend
And brace against the wind.
Blue lights would then come rushing up—
The runway in the night
Would suddenly materialize
Within the captain’s sight.
The plane would drop down at the last,
Wheels screech against the earth;
Air brakes up, flaps hold fast,
Into its final berth.
She wondered how the end would come—
She prayed she would take flight
As wheels against the tarmac run:
A knock, a lurch—then light.
Copyright 2011 © by Brian T. Maurer