print previewback LENA KHALAF TUFFAHA
Cruising Altitude
Like the milky marble with the azure eye
that lolled to and fro in the wooden track of the childhood puzzle
the one my mother would buy to keep me busy
in line after long line, I lean back
I lunge forward.
Resting on the old Samsonite, passport pages flickering fast
crackle of languages universally garbled over a loudspeaker
I move around
trailing my tribe in an orderly dance.
Finally through, I am suspended
in my given slot,
a place that was home flashes by the window,
sinks beneath the mammoth wings.
The shades are drawn, eyelids surrendering.
Soon the roar of ascent quiets
into a measured breathing of engines, strands
of daylight submerged in a sea of clouds.
Time
will fall away as we travel back into moments
others have not yet lived. Soon enough
the hum of voices thins out in the stale air. Nowhere
is a homeland, too. 
Cruising Altitude
My English Teacher Tells Me