is the nudge out the door that I've been needing,
a chance to squeeze the lemons dry -
the juice, collected in the cup, at once so sour and so welcome--
and sweeten, then, to taste:
not that of a martyred prima donna whining lies
while gleefully sporting her custom-fitted crown of thorns.
Outrage is tempered by the vague sweet scent of freedom hovering,
unseen yet palpable, deep in the shadows.
The fear of the unknown is present, too,
but, being of sound mind--I think--
and made of fairly sturdy stuff,
I will survive this latest sly assault
from unexpected quarter.
2River View, 4_1 (Fall 1999)