You could feel the
Moment when she
Realized that what
She needed to be happy
Was not the approval of
Some outside person
But her own love.
A particular moment,
A decision made to
Move in a direction
Resisted until now.
An imperceptible shift,
Change of course,
Unrestrained, unfettered,
Unemotional, unopen.
Each action builds the moat,
A long swim in an industrially
Tainted pool left for dead,
Lasting an eternity.
At some point
There is a closing
Of the mind,
A numbing of the heart,
An inability to feel
The suffering of others
In any meaningful way,
A grim resignation.
A hardened persona
Forged from years of
Suffering, or perhaps
Only one traumatic moment,
Unable to reach out from
It’s own pain and
Connect with others
Who are hurting.
People have
Given their
Lives
For you
To say
You’re not
One of those,
So you can
Live the life
You’ve become
Accustomed to,
Reap
The rewards
Without
Putting in
The effort,
Revel in your
Voluntary
Myopia
Aggravated by
Ignorance,
Insensitivity.
I don’t know how many
Ways I can say this.
A blank look,
Devoid of any understanding.
We’ve gone over this
A million times.
Another imperceptive retort,
Deflecting truth.
I can’t make someone see
What they won’t.
Silence.
Distance.
I remember when I
Used to be someone else,
When I would do anything
Just to get along,
Stifle my voice so others
Could trample on me,
Pretend I was less smart
Than I really was,
Impersonate someone who
Was less capable than them,
Stroke their egos so they
Could feel stronger,
Let them tell me what
Was best for me or how
Things should be done.
I could write
The most eloquent
Speech, carefully
Enumerating every single
Exhaustively reviewed
And edited detail,
Backing up facts with
Copious evidence,
A genuine effort to
Explain my point of view,
Or simply speak from
The heart, sharing
What I feel inside,
And it wouldn’t matter.
Helen volunteers at a
Local food pantry that
Helps people with far less
Than she has, though she
Can remember when she too
Had very little of anything.
She’s mostly chipper as
She greets the people who
Come in to ask for some
Kind of help, although
She’s particularly acerbic
About this one woman.
It seems this lowlife drives
Up to the building in
A fancy car, which rubs Helen
The wrong way, after all,
Poor people aren’t allowed
To do certain things.
The woman with the car
Never says a word, nobody
Knows her story, where she
Came from, what she had to
Overcome to get to this point,
And why she asks for assistance.
Entrenched below
Consciousness, attitudes
Developed through rote
Reinforcement, leaving
No room for anything but
Dogma, a narrow window
No light penetrates,
A joyless trudge
Through life.
