High Flight

the poem he’d read to me, empassioned,
filled my head with whirling
giddy thirst for heights

he took me for my first flight,
over St. Helens
the shining sea
mirroring the burning blue

the photo now aging
little girl, standing in the cockpit, waving
legionnaire hat crooked
face ecstatic

ignorant of my great privilege,
still dizzy with the joy
of having held the controls
for a brief moment

my grandfather
earthbound now, sits & reads,
I ache for his loss of wings

if I could
I would fly him up
and read the poem again.

15 Jan. ’10
For my grandpa Raymond Tilley
inspired by him, and  this poem.


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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