The Air Force needed to know
whether crew members could parachute safely from disabled aircraft
flying in the stratosphere.... A young test pilot, Capt. Joseph
W. Kittinger, Jr., was one of those selected to train for experiments
under USAF's Project Man High... Aug. 16, 1960 was set for the
ultimate test. Kittinger rode a four-and-a-half foot open gondola
to 102,800 feet...
— Air Force Magazine
The big drop is the only way
home.
— Captain Joseph W. Kittinger, USAF, National Geographic
When you see our earth from an
hour and a half on high
where it is a soul-chilling 94 degrees below zero Farenheit
you know it in your hummingbird-heart
that there are angels
gods
Because when you
xxxnow bathed in this rawest of sunlight
xxxand the trumpet-blast of
xxxsilence
You who have mastered yourself
by neatly garroting every mingy cringing fear
You who (as you will tell the press) have confidence in your
team
xxxconfidence in your equipment
xxxconfidence in yourself
xxxconfidence in God
step off the balloon's gondola
weightless
arms splayed as if they were wings
You are one
Gazing down upon the swirled
froth
that is cloud-cover
your back to the velvet canopy of blackness
and the stars
though strangely you cannot see them
they are indeed watching in their eternal sparkling silence
that knows every breath
and every intention that must form the future
You fall like a
knife
You have not one inch of bare skin
you are swaddled in insulation and zipped into a pressurized
suit
You must free-fall for twelve
of these fourteen miles or
you will freeze
to death
Suddenly you flip and face the
heavens
like a babe on his back in a crib
you are in the light but what you see is blackest night
no stars
your balloon a moth-speck of white xxxxxxdisappearing
Now you gasp for the air that is not there
no pressure
confusion
feet-first now you plunge
650 to 700 miles per hour and
Beyond
Soundlessly
Supersonic
The clouds loom up solid as a
floor
but
like a spirit you pass into it
this breath inside of time
and here
like the finger of Apollo
your barometric device clicks
and your parachute blooms
open
the cage tight around your chest hauls you back xxxxxxxxxup
where you are not welcome to stay
xxxhowever staring your courage
xxxhowever steeled your indifference
xxxhowever much we all dream of it
And you float down now
strange petal
xxxxxxwhere the wind
shoves you
A kind of tail-less helmeted primate
wearing waffle-weave underwear
strapped into a fifty-seven pound contraption
Feeling the awful aliveness of your body
that roaring pain in your blood-swollen right hand
that strap tugging over your crotch
in your belly pushing like a brick into your lungs is
your breakfast
Orange juice and strawberry shortcake
A clearness now: the world's
spectacles wiped clean:
our gray-blue world
The sweet warmth of earth pulls you
to its scarred hide
bleached with the mottle of the ancient sea's sand
xxxwhite as salt
xxxwhite as the clouds far above
xxxwhite as all the stars melted together
Thirteen minutes and forty-five
seconds have elapsed since bail-out
when you hear
xxxxxxthe thud
of yourself
and you fall to your knees into white sand
and your chute
xxxxxxlike the last silken exhalation of the
heavens
falls on you
Beautiful |
C. M. MAYO
