Seen from the Air

I. September, 1982

 

Flying cross-country with United

I look out the window and learn so much.

 

I see the square fields of the Midwest

give way to the circles of the Great Plains,

 

see the violent upthrust of the Rockies

still roiling the air into in-flight turbulence.

 

I see the cloudless inter-mountain

painted every shade of late-summer dust.

 

The pilot’s bored, I guess. He entertains

himself and me with travelogue:

 

and on the right-hand side, folks, you can see

the mighty Columbia, Queen of the Western Rivers

 

if you look out now you can see Mt. St. Helens

with the flat top from the eruption

 

and here comes Mt. Hood on the left, we’ll be

making our final descent into Portland shortly

 

II. March, 2019

 

Since then I’ve learned new (old) names:
Ooligan, Wy’east, Lawetlat’la.

 

Shapes: the serpentine of riverbeds before

the trapping out of beavers, the dams and drainage.

 

Colors: subtle desert tones of sage, rabbitbrush,

mountain mahogany. Every shade of pink

 

that rhododendrons teach. I’ve learned

what cannot be seen from the air—

The feel of home.

 

 

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