Her Attendants

She feels well enough to fly.
There’s no question of children
Anymore. That dream is done.

The new dream she’s been trying
Some months to fit in its place
Is an early retirement

To a picturesque cottage
On the coast of Newfoundland
Where land’s going for a song,

And the cold purifies you,
She imagines, scours you new.
For now, though, she has to work.

She’s never been that thrifty,
But she always could find work.
She has work. She needs to work.

She works three flights while tipsy.
At the hotel, she stumbles
And crashes into her sink,

Injuring her right elbow.
Not badly, but it’s scary.
Hours she weeps into the phone.

She needs strong reassurance
She’s strong and she can handle
This version of middle life.

She’s not. She knows it. Voices
Over the phone betray it.
Her family knows it, too.

Still, she’ll get up tomorrow.
She’ll manage another flight.
Snow flies outside the window.