Maddie a little girl of eight, l dreamed of helicopters
She drew three of them in pictures for her grandmother
Her grandma wondered about it, but kept them on her refrigerator
Maddie and her parents were in a car wreck on the freeway.
Maddie was airlifted out by a medivac helicopter.
Grandma heard the helicopter as it flew over her house.
She had a sad feeling and began to pray.
Maddie did not survive the wreck.
The plane had after three hours crashed,
With the scene after four hours flashed;
The people who had been airlifted
Without a lone exception gifted:
Three hundred and sixty passengers,
Thirty six of them God's Messengers,
A thirty - six year - old senator
Involved with a female aviator,
A twelve - year - old school child monitor
And his doting father janitor
Farmer owner of Navigator
Still enthused about The Gladiator...
And the Nasty Crash picked them all up,
As though filled up their life's fateful Rude Cup
A Plane Crash in Max's mind a deep gash,
Because passengers had paid full cash!
He was airlifted to another place.
The heath, the dales,
the ridges, the high moors,
they all began to slip away
under throbbing wings.
Occasionally a woman would approach,
a silk moth in the semi-gloom
of a night flight;
he was tucked semi-consciously
into a droning life-support system.
When you are unearthed,
green roots tug,
mud and twigs come with you.
Pools and sediment
make their way as seeds and marsh
traveling as your incubated life.
Places you have slept on,
waded across,
had breezy sex over,
they tether you to a tillage and turf,
of lived experience
even as you fly far from it.
He began to plant bits of himself
into the soil of his new home.
He hid mossy stones amid plastic rocks’
left lichen trails
on the marble floors of shopping malls.
He recreated his own clay
from the sand-shifting soil he found
in an alien loam.
Slowly the land began to own him.
He dug himself into the past
of this remodeled wilderness.
Became a native of rooted and uprooted things.
When he was asked:
'to which country he belonged?'
He would show the dirt
under his fingernails.
The plane touched down
Ethiopians kissed the ground
The Bible's holy soil
Land of Israel
Home at Last!
_________________________________________
Operation Solomon was a covert Israeli military
operation, in which over 14,000 persecuted
Ethiopian Jews were airlifted to Israel in 36
hours in May of 1991.
_________________________________________
Total: 18 words
January 13, 2021
20-word max -- do it with feeling contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
He was airlifted to another place.
The heaths, the dales,
the high ridges,
all began to slip away
under throbbing wings.
(When you are unearthed,
roots still wriggle,
flecks of native mud
cling to your senses
and come with you.
A sediment makes its way
inside wrinkles and pockets.
Places you have slept on,
waded across,
had breezy sex over,
tether your turf).
He began to plant.
He left lichen trails
on the faux marble floors of shopping malls.
he placed moss under plastic rocks.
In time he discovered good clay in a new land.
If asked:
to what country he belonged?
He would show the dirt
under his fingernails.
He was airlifted to another place.
The heath, the dales,
the ridges, the high moors,
they all began to slip away
under throbbing wings.
Occasionally a woman would approach,
a silk moth in the semi-gloom
of a night flight;
he was tucked semi-consciously
into a droning life-support system.
When you are unearthed,
green roots tug,
mud and twigs come with you.
Pools and sediment
make their way as seeds and marsh
traveling with your incubating soul.
Places you have slept on,
waded across,
had breezy sex over,
they tether you to tillage and turf,
to your life,
even as you fly far from it.
He began to plant bits of himself
into the soil of his new home.
He hid mossy stones amid plastic rocks’
left lichen trails
on the marble floors of shopping malls.
He recreated his own clay
from the sand-shifting soil he found
in an alien loam.
Slowly the land began to own him.
He dug himself into the past
of this remodeled wilderness.
Became a native of rooted and uprooted things.
When he was asked:
To which country he belonged?
He would show the dirt
under his fingernails.
B52s above the Aleutians?
It never was a Red Dread global mission.
Fidel was just Galician patrician,
and Ho and Mao were scholarly Confucians.
They wore those uniforms like horsehair vests,
to carve from abject nothingness an entity,
a national and regional identity,
ingredients which only coalesced
when nascent nations donned that soviet skin,
abhorrent to the blinkered Baywatch mind:
unowned, untethered, boundless, non-aligned –
but with Kalashnikovs airlifted in.
As Mary Jane moved in on moonshine stills,
the five-year-olds rehearsed their fallout drills.
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