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Interval of Mortality
1943

The Douglas Search and Rescue plane, flying
over northern Burma, cruising for a glimpse
of a missing transport, to guide us to the crew
two days overdue, an almost hopeless quest.

Treetops on the Himalayan foothills blocked
our view of the forest floor where we
might sight debris, perhaps a treehung
chute, a gap where smoke or fire burned.

I stood at the open plane door, a bracket
overhead, leaning, searching, a sudden gust
dipped the wing, my safety grip shifted.

My head outside the door, the slipstream
felt like a fatal blow, no time for flashing
resumes, I knew that if I lost my hold
I'd fall and never be found again.

Within the same split second, a breath
of thermal warmth lifted the port wing,
tipped me back into the plane, reduced,
that day, the casualty count by one.

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