The Greatest Unease

By Irene Fick

August 31, 2020

The Greatest Unease

Flying over deep water in the inscrutable dark. We are doomed. I hear the pilot slur his words. My neck is stiff. I feel a headache coming on. My legs begin to cramp. The anxiety pills make me nauseous. The line for the loo snakes down the aisle. The plane begins to jerk. It gets worse. I grip the arm rests, chew my lips, take stock of my life, fears, anxieties. I try to believe in a supreme being, a higher power, whatever. I pray hard. My prayer is futile. We are going down. The plane crashes in the Atlantic. Divers find and collect the bodies. Family and friends begin to mourn. My death is announced in an obituary accompanied by a flattering photo (my hair at its loveliest). Cards, flowers and casseroles flood the house. A celebration of life goes on for hours with an inspired playlist of songs and readings. Hundreds show up. Many cry, share poignant memories. Some women, dressed to the nines, comfort my husband for an awfully long time. No matter. I am now adrift in a vast consciousness, floating in a bubble of raw energy. I suppose I am at peace––but oh, what I would give to return to my life, its uneasy turbulence, its precious, beautiful mess.


Irene Fick is trying to overcome her fear of flying. Her poetry collections, The Wild Side of the Window (Main Street Rag), and The Stories We Tell (The Broadkill Press) received first place awards from the National Federation of Press Women. Her poems have been published in journals such Gargoyle, Poet Lore, The Broadkill Review, Mojave River Review and (forthcoming) The Blue Mountain Review. She lives in Lewes, Delaware.


Photo by Killian Pham courtesy of Unsplash

comments powered by Disqus « Back to Beautiful-Things

Newsletter Sign Up

shadow shadow