By: Eric Bodlak
In January, we watched Flight
2379 spirit him up into the choppy
grey, until even the bright-white
of the tailborne LEDs had been
extinguished. Returning home, we
linked limp fingers and listened
to the thump-thump of the roadway
seams, neither one of us quite
possessing the degree of cleverness
required for conversation, but finally,
at the house, making our way inside,
I got you laughing and laughing
and laughing, and our breath
soared above us like stratospheric
plumes announcing again
the apocalypse over twentieth-century
Japan. Afterward, in the kitchen, you
filled our glasses with anniversary
wine and we ventured out onto
the balcony, where we unboxed
your decades-old telescope, nuzzled
noses, and locked our bundled arms
around one another, but when
I pressed my face against
the eyepiece, I couldn’t see a thing.
Eric Bodlak is a research engineer who lives and works in Huntsville, Alabama.