Summer sat with me on that night flight
Out of Africa. She shared the aisle seat
And the dinner, and breakfast at first light
Over Europe. Sting’s Symphonicities was on repeat.
Window seats were for the curious and dawn
That day was a spectacle. An acrobat sun
Tumbled through a quilt of orange down
Brimming with acrobatic laughter and juvenile fun.
It wouldn’t last. Schiphol stretched below
As the captain’s voice from his cockpit
Poured through the cabin in a practiced flow
Of raspy Dutch and English from long habit.
The eagle landed and we trooped to Customs
Where Summer vanished amidst the new arrivals
And in her stead my first of many Autumns –
Her eyes were hazel, her welcome brooked no rivals.
Tade Ipadeola.
khalameditions 