They keep searching the seas:
the Bay of Bengal, the Gulf of Thailand,
the South China Sea, the Indian Ocean.
Might as well look in Lake Michigan.
No terrorists on board, no hijackers.
Two good pilots—a grandfather and
a young man looking forward to marriage.
Only good people (ask the relatives,
wailing and weeping), a planeload
of concentrated goodness
from Asia, Australia, Europe
and North America. Where
could they possibly be?
I know. A night flight.
Two pilots, heads in the clouds.
One gives a nod, turns
off the transponder. The plane
rises to 45,000 feet, 60,000, higher—
approaches the glowing face of God.
Phyllis Wax muses on the news and politics from a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan in Milwaukee, WI. She's been widely published, most recently in The Widows' Handbook: Poetic Reflections on Grief and Survival from Kent State University Press.
