in march

the radio has been crackling static for months;

today I finally pulled the plug,

thinking I might be better off in silence

than waiting for a voice to materialize over the airwaves. 

but stillness doesn’t find me.

outside, airplanes roar across the steel-grey sky, 

low-slung cloud cover cloaking them

in invisibility.

i started hearing planes the day the music died, 

started rushing to the window,

stopping in the middle of the sidewalk

to crane my neck and look up, up,

hoping to glimpse the birds with metal wings.

sometimes they’re unnervingly near,

huge as vultures cruising above suburban streets;

sometimes sparrow-small in the heights of the wild blue yonder, 

vapor trails fading faster than eyes can follow.

and sometimes, the speed of sound deceives; 

by the time I hear it, the plane is already gone,

like a radio crackling static 

after the end of the final song.