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Bozeman Airport
Snow is falling everywhere, even
up from the tarmac in the trembling
around the engine barrels.
Two men in earmuffs in a cherry picker
aim pink foam from a fire hose;
the wing melts down to its metal.
An inch from my nose the plexiglass
ticks and stipples into archipelagoes
of water. One of the men waves a broom
as if gravity were a theory
and we slide back, slow in the weather,
to turn. Runway lights like blue matchheads.
The sky kneels down. Bits of sleet
fly off the engines like sparks,
crazy in the winglights. Then a jerky hurtling,
faster, till the airfield gives way
to sheer air. Nothing outside
has a name, the Bridger Range invisible,
ranches big as counties – gone.
No cottonwoods to give the river away,
no river. No earth, no edge. Not one fact
to tell how far there is to fall.
From As If Gravity Were a Theory (Cider Press, 2006).
This poem first appeared in Zone 3 and later appeared in
Another Way to Begin (Finishing Line Press, 2006).
Used here with the author’s permission.
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Don Colburn came to poetry late and unexpectedly, in the midst of a newspaper career. A longtime reporter for The Washington Post and The Oregonian, he was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing. He has an MFA in poetry from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. Colburn has published six poetry collections, including five chapbooks, the latest titled Purchase. His writing honors honors include the Discovery/The Nation Award, the Finishing Line Press Poetry Prize, the Cider Press Review Book Award, the Ruth Stone Poetry Prize and residencies at MacDowell and Yaddo. He lives in Falmouth, Maine. Learn more about Don at www.doncolburn.net.
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wendy morton:
a masterful poem, full of lovely and brilliant images, exquisite poetic language.
Posted 02/25/2011 06:26 PM
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LindaCrosfield:
Ah yes...I worked at airports in Montreal and Toronto for several years. You caught it, exactly, Don. Good one!
Posted 02/25/2011 12:53 PM
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Ralph Murre:
From brilliant title through the unfolding of every line; a fine, fine poem. Indeed, the very one I've tried to write everytime I've flown, but have never come close.
Posted 02/25/2011 09:42 AM
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jeanie:
I love this! How we think we know the names of things, how the always uncontrollable weather sets us right again. "Nothing outside has a name..." The undoing of snow.
Posted 02/25/2011 08:13 AM
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