Airborne

In the Lufthansa flight on her way home from Milan
seven thousand metres above the Alps
she rests her head against the window,
worried about her first assignment for Nortrade.
Soon she dozes, and half-dreaming
she is already over Skagerrak.
But in the handbag under her seat
lies the rose
the Italian contact
bought for her at dinner the night before.
It lies protected
inside Monday's Milano Finanza
she had hoped she would manage to read.
Innermost, between the light pressure
of the petals,
a yellow larva keeps wriggling.
So: airborne woman, rose and larva.

Translation: May-Brit Akerholt