The year I was born
the plane went down over
uncharted land, drowning in green
endless forest, choking damp heat.
Rare parrots watched.
Howler monkeys shouted
through the trees
news of something never seen before.
The crew had no chance.
Rescue teams heard the call
but failed to locate
in endless dense canopy.
Now the bones and wreckage
lie in arid suburban gardens
where at night, the ghosts of howler monkeys scream
and extinct parrots flutter through restless dreams.
previously published in Moonstone and on the My Delayed Reactions blog, here