Desert Reflection

The tarnished silver Airstream squats in the desert, a middle finger to my chaotic past - the ex's betrayal, selling my birth center, everything that made me a retired midwife at fifty-three. Salt, my dog, knows something's shifting before I do. She always does. Marfa calls, but I take one big fat detour first. I really wish I hadn't.

This desert town deals in more than art installations and public radio. Here, magic has teeth AND babies, and my work has tracked me down at the crossroads.

Question of Help

Question is: when there's no such thing as retired, can I not help without loathing myself? It's not my nature to stand back when I'm needed. Can I help without betraying myself? Historically the answer has been no. The desert says yes. I'm not convinced.