June 1st, we got our start,
Mrs. Earhart climbed aboard,
Elated yet focused,
Knowing history was being made,
And I was a part of it,
Up until the very end,
It was Mrs. Earhart, Mr. Noonan, and me.
I was bursting with pride as my wheels lifted from the ground and I took flight,
Mrs. Earhart controlled me with ease,
We had an understanding her and I.
Mr. Noonan expertly navigated us through the clouds,
My metal caught the radiant rays of sunlight that seemed just out of my reach,
My wings were expert and sharp,
Slicing through the clouds like scissors through craft paper.
Hours passed and I grew weary,
Mrs. Earhart guided me over the Pacific,
Mr. Noonan slumped over the map,
Searching the expanse of water for Howland Island, our next fuel stop,
He scoured the map,
she searched the sky,
But my tank that had once been filled to the brim, now empty.
Mrs. Earhart gripped the steering stick tighter,
Attempting to maneuver us to a safe landing,
I focused all my energy on making my mark,
stared upon the island's dusty surface,
willing myself to go just a bit further,
trying to ignore Mrs. Earhart's shouts of mayday ringing in my ears.
I was still staring upon the island as my body hit the water,
Mayday, mayday,
Chilling me to my core,
My body cried as I sunk faster and faster,
Mayday, mayday,
Water filling in every crevice of my being,
Drowning my tears in the waters of the Pacific.
I panicked, knowing I had let her down,
I felt one of my windows shatter,
felt a pang,
Mrs. Earhart kicked off from my right side,
She exited the plane with fervor,
Plunging herself into the abyss of water,
Frantically swimming to the surface,
Holding her breath until she reached it,
Allowing her lungs to be filled once again with sweet oxygen,
Or did she?
My eyes grew weary, filling to the brim with salty water,
I fought the urge to shut them,
I had to see Mrs. Earhart reach her final destination,
But alas, the water became too much for me and the island fell from my eyes.
