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Flying
Maya Wilmshurst
My stomach drops and
The world falls away beneath me
Its majestic blues and greens
Like the splashes of colour on a painter’s palette.
The crisscrossing stripes lined with
Little dolls’ houses and toy cars.
The clouds close like the curtains on a grand stage
And suddenly my world is white
White cotton dances around me
Gracefully performing carefully prepared routines
The sun is the spotlight shining on the dancers
Its rays revealing the ravishing routine.
A noise drones on in my ears
Humming harshly like a swarm of bees
Punctuated by the constant murmur
Of parents chatting and children arguing.
It stops…
A static buzz sounds and a voice speaks out:
‘Prepare for landing.’
‘
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