Selfish Woman

I heard about an older woman setting out to
find her joy at last, some action finally taken
even though it felt to others, I am sure,
as if she'd pulled the Band aid off too soon.
At least she got up off the couch. At least she
found that there was something that she cared
for (herself, apparently) At least she isn't
passive, wants to feel alive again. However,
in this case, it's just a sham, a make-believe
stand for independence. The cord's not cut,
he's paying still for everything. And so my
kindest thoughts are not for her, because she hasn't really
gone at all. Her shadow lurks behind the curtain,
the promise there (or threat) that she'll
return, quite unannounced and possibly when
they have learned to do without her altogether,
thank you very much. The selfish and the cruel
are like that, I've observed. Do what they want,
and then come back just when the people
whom they left are waking up without the
stress of having them around. It's all about Me,
these people who are glad to take the money
from the ones they've tired of. I shouldn't judge
this woman, and wouldn't if she left alone -- would
realize she has her reasons, not expect to understand
what she's been through, the hurts I cannot fathom --
without the family checkbook. Perhaps it's easier,
on second thought, for her to leave in stages.
First her body. Then her clothes. And then her need,
dependency on what she's gotten used to, what
she's come to think belongs to her because.
And one day, when she's all-the-way gone, her
husband and her child will have the luxury of
missing her, and maybe they will call her up
and ask her if she'd like to come to dinner,
the scab so nicely healed all by itself.
If only she will let them have the time.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014