At Hand — Rachel Dacus

At Hand
Salvavida bajo su asiento.
It took me awhile to translate: Lifesaver 
Under Your Seat. Under this fragile body 
of lofting steel, our tennis rackets and rain 
coats, our bathing suits, and below that, 
turbulent pockets and updrafts.
And under that, what no lifesaver
can cushion. But in air they soothe
in every tongue: salvavida 
is below your asiento, and that's all you need.
That, and at the press of a button, everything 
in featherweights – the five-ounce can 
of tomato juice at ninety-minute intervals,
two cookies and twenty chips, a pillow 
small as a cloud measured with fingers 
on the window. They float up the aisles 
to keep you warm and half-asleep, 
to make sure that salvavida is handy. 
Someone like the mother you ought to have,
who salvas your vida 
while it hurtles at five hundred per, 
someone who says, in case you speak English – 
and only up here: Salvation is at hand.