Small World

Sing a chorus of
"It's a Small World" and then
try to keep the tune out of your
head for 15 minutes. I dare you.

Saccharine singing moppets at Mickey's
preach gospel of global unity but when we
say it's a small world, that's not what we mean
at all. In another state, we run into
childhood pal, or sit across a table from
the man our second cousin, once removed.
almost married. Small world, we say.
Mine has gotten smaller.
Beyond the paling of pious passions once carried
out on overseas missions (as if sleeping on
concrete or squatting to pee would
save a single soul) friends have fallen by the wayside.
Even relatives, once near and dear,
now far away. Their choice, not mine.
My money still supports great causes
other people run but running offices, campaigns,
programs, much ado about Good Things
has given way to running down the street
in hopes to keep in shape another day.
I still get calls for this or that, but nothing
someone else could not accomplish. I wish,
sometimes, for the return of Need, and then
remember what it came to mean. My scope
of influence has narrowed to not much more
than one square tile upon which I stand
in an embrace. As long as I can smile up into
one beloved face, I am content to live
within this tiny world, inhabited by two.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

An exaggeration, obviously. We each have our place in the greater world, and each person (even I) is necessary. But as I have gotten older, my vision has narrowed somewhat. A lot, actually. I do not claim that this is right or good. It just is.