There’s a dead body in my bathtub –
metaphorically speaking, of course,
but the shock of it is real
I’ve seen her before, this woman,
young, stylish – like a rising star –
her nakedness is blinding
How long has she been here, and
is she not cold: stark white skin
tinged with blue – appalling
I’d be more sympathetic, except
I’ve enough to contend with
given the plans we are making
the revolving door of visitors
and obligations and responsibility;
she’s more than I can deal with
but wait… did I detect movement,
could there be life in her yet,
I cannot tear myself away
there’s something eerily familiar
about her youthfulness Рa naivet̩
that I’ve long since buried
reminds me of dreams I once had –
fantasies of theater, and Shakespeare –
wanted to be the next Maggie Smith
I see it all now – the gradual sapping
of life, slashed by choices – a more
conventional route, an achingly painful
death – oh, I’ve tried to keep her alive,
dabbled in sidelines, never a priority;
you see worth is tied up in tradition
and to pursue one’s dreams…well,
that’s just self-centered folly and
I let her whither, I admit, but
I hadn’t meant to let her die
just could not bear the burden
of one more disappointment
Anger rises and I want to shake her
this embodiment of failure – how
was I supposed to keep you alive
You were an escape, that’s all
a vessel for hope and aspirations
the musings of a misguided youth
what kind of devilry is this –
you showing up now, when illness
has claimed me, and potential
wanes – are you taunting me?
Is this a threat? don’t just lie there
mired in your own drama
face me, woman – and so she rises
like a second coming, and I see
that she is only a mirror
a reflection of myself, not disabled,
but polished, refined, accomplished
challenging me to never give up
be found dead in a pool of regrets –
a certainty at the rate I am going –
obstacles, she tells me, are illusory
success requires goals, and progress
is not defined by limitations, and if
you pace yourself, value yourself
believe in yourself, in us, then there
is time – and for a brief moment,
her image fades and I see my father
blue eyes exuding warmth, and
confidence, encouraging me on
and I understand: I am still alive…
( Image by Elena del Palacio, Untitled)
One Woman's Quest 