I know you use Sally as your nom de plume,
but I know you, Sally Sue, and always will,
the formerly impoverished, little, fundamentalist
girl from rural wherever probably with roots going
back to ever backward in your own denial of what
was good back there. We’re all trying to escape our roots
and then finally find the peace in finding them again
(and it’s as if seeing it again but for the first time Eliot wrote).
You too, Sally Sue? Did you ever like yourself or are all your
well publicized good deeds for the less fortunate,
ironically, a way to further separate you from those roots?
Trying to dismiss and erase what was in the marrow
of your bones, you hitched your wagon resolutely
to what you saw as a rising star and you have ridden
that star ever since while posturing for the poor
from your now elitist perch. It is so much easier to
see if you are looking down. Are you looking
for yourself down there? Look closely, Sally Sue. It’s
you and she’s looking back at you. Carl Sandburg
once wrote that the ugliest word in the English language
is “exclusive,” and there are those who would add
“dismissive,” and I have seen such dismissiveness
brutally dismiss innocence. Those are two words I think
of when I think of you, formerly impoverished, little, fund-
amentalist girl, Sally Sue — exclusive and dismissive.
Those are strange, poets would say ugly, words
upon which to build a legacy and describe a lifetime
of achievements regardless what the paper
may praise. You wish to be “exclusive” and that
you surely are and always have been “dismissive.”
How sad, how profoundly sad….
And now as your seemingly false altruism justifiably
fades, you face the cruel reality of insignificance
from which you have sought so hard to escape.
But that insignificance has only been in the mirror
of your own mind as the Lloyd Weber words ring,
“Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” and your Betty Davis
eyes and Joan Crawford smirk fade from the big
screen of life as we all eventually, graciously or
defiantly, exit stage left.