Not Circe Laughing

I don't make men love me
a little
for fun
or power
or control
I'm not Circe laughing
I'm Hestia of hearth and home
serving everyone else
invisible in mirrors
Not yet a ghost
but might as well be
If I sat in the garden
toasting the twilight
with a glass of wine
It would always be
alone
but I could think of you
somewhere in the ether