Cargo by T.R. Poulson

"Fate is a small word."

Cargo

by T.R. Poulson

                         —confession of a UPS driver, with condolences
                          to the families of the fourteen people who died
                          when UPS Flight 2976 crashed


In darkness, can joy be held like a child?
A brown and gold-tailed plane crashes. Freight
and boxes of crickets’ burn—in this unfurled
ruin, why do I think of the insects first? Fate,

a crashed brown and gold-tailed plane. Freight
planes once carried passengers. Cabins were full
of life. It’s easier to think of objects. Fate
is a small word. Three pilots die in the rubble.

This plane used to carry passengers. Now it’s full
of cargo—paychecks and pets’ meals are flown
in a small world. Eleven others die in the rubble,
among them a three-year-old girl on the ground.

My cargo, too, is paychecks. Pets’ meals flown
Next Day in planes heavy with important things.
I was once a three-year-old girl on a playground.
Sometimes I chased corn snakes. Shunned swings.

One day, in my heavy truckful of important things
a box of crickets busted open. Their songs unfurled
in overtime—corn snakes’ meals found wings.
In darkness, I want to hold their joy like a child. 

This poem is in response to UPS cargo plane involved in deadly crash had cracks in engine mount, investigators say, PBS News, Nov 20, 2025.

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