At the age of five I often wondered
What it felt like to fall from the sky.
Would it be serene like a great bird
Winging its way through the heavens,
And would it bathe my face in cool wind
As I accepted my fate?

Or would it be rushed and frantic
Like saying goodbye too early?
Nothing but void above
And pain below
On a mad rush to the end?
Would it hurt?

Other things I wondered
About the endless expanse
Beyond where blue became black
And angels held their breath
As if they were swimming
In a sea of a million crystals.

Answers came swiftly, unbidden
From pages and reels of film
But my greatest teacher at that age
Was a small grey television.
I could see the future live and feel
The hope swell within me that I could go also.

They’re coming home,
I was told with a smile.
They’ve been gone for a long time.
I looked at the picture of the sky
The only happy shade of blue
And eagerly saw their triumphant trail.

A white line became two
And two became three
And three became a silent inferno.
No-one spoke as the camera began to shake.
Go upstairs, they said, don’t watch anymore.
And I swear I could hear, in hushed tones,
The name Columbia.