HEROINE

The woman brings the boy
to the Bookmobile. I'm guessing
he is ten or eleven. Their
height and weight are similar.
He cannot walk, cannot stand.
She stands behind, her arms
around his waist. When I ask
if I can help, her smile is serene.
She tells me she can manage.

She lifts, hoisting him step
by step up the steps. She
sets him on the floor. He can
not or will not speak. I do
not know if his unblinking
stare is anger or frustration
or anything at all. I do not,
dare not, ask. She scans the
shelves and once or twice
coos, "We'll like this one,
won't we?" Her selections made,
she lugs him down and out while
I stand and watch, helpless.

I believe she can manage.

I have no idea how she can.