After the eruption but before takeoff
Today I hold my passport between my teeth.
Like some sort of sled dog I schlep through the forest that is the JFK airport,
laden with burdens and a backpacker guitar.
Icelandic ash stings my eyes even now as we sit at the crowded gate playing Egyptian Ratscrew—
delays crowd the screens like dust over the Atlantic
and I hope it settles before Heathrow.
As I kick back on my first 747 since fourth grade I think I’ll order
a martini,
dirty please,
sprinkled with volcanic ash and uncertainties,
or maybe just some tea,
because that’s what I’d prefer to drink, I think,
when we arrive in England.
In a Plane Over the Nile: 1 hour 20 minutes from Entebbe. 5:56 AM.
How very Lion King of God to make my first glimpse of Africa a sunrise.
Five minutes ago I woke up,
cracked my back,
licked my teeth,
and saw IT out the window—
deep strokes of flaming orange and pink,
just like in the movie.
I almost broke into song,
right there in the dark.
It suddenly no longer matters that
I have not slept in a horizontal position for 48 hours
and my body feels like someone hooked me up to an IV filled with whiskey,
because
THERE’S A REAL-LIVE LION KING SUNRISE OUT THE WINDOW!
Perhaps we all chose Africa because we are children,
dirty-haired, daydreaming, Disney-loving children
who are still amazed enough
to stand with mouths hanging open at the sight of the sun itself.
Thank God for this.
At 39,000 feet
I feel humbled.
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