When Strangers from a Distant Planet Find Each Other

The moment that she realized she must have come
from outer space, her home a dazzling planet
where the standards were so high
she was an exile now,
expelled for less than excellence, evicted
to a mediocre earth of dullish brown
and dullish co-inhabitants all satisfied
to pass the test or keep the job,
get by and don't make waves, behave
yourself but never, ever strive to be the best.
The rest of all she saw wherever she might
find herself, the bar was set so low, it made
her hurt inside, discerning such colossal wastes
of time and energy and talent, for it all was there.
She knew it was. They simply didn't care,
and there was nothing
she could say or do to change that fact.
Banished from one land for failure to
be up to snuff, her punishment
was almost more than she could bear - no
more to try for greatness, awful sentence:
settling for "enough."
What saved her sanity was finding
an expatriate one day all stunned
and out of sorts, deported for (she learned)
her very crime. "Look here," she said,
extending now a tentative, shy hand to
help him up. She was grateful
when he didn't argue, letting her be strong
and capable and sure.
"How is it here?" he asked. "I've heard
it stinks of hell, just slogging through
and never saying what you really think,
and getting used to average, as if "better
than" was just a fairy tale or hypothetical
existence on exotic, distant planets."
"Not at all," she answered with a smile.
"I was lonely for awhile, feeling sad
and puckish and outnumbered,
but then I saw you sitting there. And
now, I think it's grand. Together,
maybe we can start to carve out excellence
that's all our own, and it won't matter
if the only eyes who notice are those on
your face and mine, or if the only voices
marvelling belong to us. In this case, that"
(she thought) "will be enough,"
"But in a good way," he replied,
and she agreed.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014