in the aeroplane over the sea

i was born
in the sky over disputed waters —
somewhere over the pacific:
territory patrolled by british boats,
but farmed by filipino fishermen —
in an aeroplane over the sea.

i was born
in the economy class aisle —
«i’m sorry, we only upgrade frequent flyers»,
therefore, not the unborn —
while the inflight entertainment
kept the passengers at ease.

i was born
to the east of the setting sun —
its rays came o’er the starboard wing
and hit me through the window —
while thirty-thousand feet below
the ocean shone ripe-orange.

i was born
into midwiving arms
of an airline stewardess,
and the emergency exits
were *there*, *there*,
and *there*.

i was born!
and the captain announced
«soon we’ll be coming in to land»
and the seatbelt sign glowed red
as i blinked my newborn eyes
and the aeroplane touched down.

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