MARIANNE SZLYK

If My Mother is in Purgatory,

she is a stewardess, flying
through turbulence, never crashing, never
landing.  Her skirt is too
short, showing each half-pound
creeping onto her small frame.
She cannot stop to pull
down her skirt or reapply
her makeup or fix her
hair or even drink coffee.

The passengers plead for more
for more drinks for more
pillows more peanuts more sickbags.  
Customers call for more quiet
as babies and grown men
howl as fat women pray
to Jesus without a rosary.
She rolls her eyes, correcting
everyone’s grammar in her mind.

Her coworkers are friends.  They

roll their eyes as, voices
lowered, they discuss the passengers. 
While they stock the cart,
they give everyone nicknames.  They
have nicknames for coworkers, too.
They can’t find pillows; they
fill the cart with blankets
or raincoats or sticky uniforms.
They can’t find Dramamine; they
raid their purses for M&Ms
breath mints or hard candy.
Someday this plane will land. My mother swears that she will go back to Maine and never leave.  Her friends and family will all have to find her there.

***************copyright Marianne Szlyk


(previously published in Blue Mountain Review)