Returning from another Chicago Thanksgiving

Peering out my Canadair window at dusk,

we smoothly arc and bank the atmosphere.

I am almost home. I am almost here.

In velvet descent I see the gentle curve of creeks

curling the marshes under the pinkish air.

Ever nearer now, the stars of street lamps peek out there.

As the plane touches down it’s as if the wheels

receive an injection of terra firma. A jolting, squeal,
and then, out come the cell phones--