Not Really Relating
by Jeannie E. Roberts
"Look within, for within is the wellspring of
virtue,
which
will not cease flowing, if you cease not from digging."
―Marcus Aurelius
She recalls he was
eleven, maybe twelve, when they’d last met.
Anticipating the depth
and maturity of a middle-aged man,
her expectations
dissolved upon hearing his critique: My god,
what happened―what happened to you? Your skin. Your face.
You used to be so gorgeous. Maybe Botox could
help.
Despite his potential,
he seemed to be a person with little verbal
filter, whose attachment
to earthly things had gotten the best
of him. After his
comments, he mentioned his fondness
for weightlifting.
Demonstrating his skill, he picked her up,
added a robust bear hug
and these conciliatory words: but you're
still sweet. Throughout the afternoon, he made
troubling remarks
and as he continued down
the path of belittlement,
she thought to
herself, this is not the kind of company
I wish to keep,
especially on my birthday.
During their hike,
in the setting she used
to call home, the woods appeared darker,
less inviting, it wasn't
the fertile ground she’d remembered,
nor wished to remember, it
was spoiled, not nearly as pretty.
Thinking about the complexity
of our stories and how they often
carry heavy narratives,
that October evening, she turned
to the unseen, the
missing pieces, the broken and misshapen ones,
hoping that the puzzle
might someday be repaired,
compassionately
assembled and placed carefully back in its box.
Aligning herself, she
visualized a place, a space, where another
kind of beauty exists,
one that's aware of something other than
externals, a resonant,
deep-seated well of potentiality, a reservoir
that has no knowledge of
skin or surface, injury or wrongdoing,
nor any part of our
temporal existence. She held this image,
concentrated on its
healing properties, envisioned his essence
as kindness, a treasury
of strength and goodness, grounded
in confidence,
completely detached from self. Within this wellspring,
he appeared aquatic,
embryonic, like a fetus prior to birth.
* * * * *
Jeannie E. Roberts has
authored four poetry collections, including The Wingspan of Things (Dancing
Girl Press, 2017), Romp and Ceremony (Finishing Line Press,
2017), Beyond Bulrush (Lit Fest Press, 2015), and Nature
of it All (Finishing Line Press, 2013). She is also
the author and illustrator of Rhyme the Roost! A Collection of Poems
and Paintings for Children (forthcoming from Daffydowndilly Press, an
imprint of Kelsay Books, 2019) as well as Let's Make Faces!, a children's book dedicated to her son
(author-published, 2009). She is Poetry Editor of the online literary
magazine Halfway Down the Stairs and a member of the Wisconsin
Fellowship of Poets.
There's an understated levity here that almost mitigates the disappointment of this brave, hopeful, birthday girl. The title's hint of snark sets the tone. I read this twice, enjoying it all the more the second time.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Matthew.
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