Surprising troll of jealousy staggers up from
the subconscious, tormented twisted figure
I threw into a deep dank dungeon long ago,
forgetting where I'd put the key. A movie did it,
coaxing it to show its face, the hot fierce
tears collecting in the corners of my eyes as
it escaped. I didn't see it coming, as the boy
who'd drowned was rescued, given CPR,
restored to life and resting in his father's arms.
Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! He cheated death,
the enemy was out to lunch and angels ministered,
last minute intervention, miracle and happy
ending. The scene was fiction but the tears
were real, the sudden anger of awareness
that the miracles don't always come. It wasn't
that I was sorry the boy was saved.
I was jealous because mine wasn't. Jealous,
and sad, and angry, eating buttered popcorn
in the darkened theater, and no one even knew.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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