For My Old Boss, at Menopause

By Clara Blair

It's probably hit you by now.
Nearly twenty years
Have passed
Since I last saw you.

Did the marriage last?
Did you have kids?
Are they all as smart
As you are?

Those are just
The cattiest
Of all the questions
I would like to ask you.

No, wait, there's more!
(I went on into
advertising
after you let me go.)

Do you still bat your
Eyelashes
At the big, powerful men
You work for?

Do you still retreat
Into your office,
Weeping your humiliation
In private?

Then, do you emerge,
Cool and regal,
Ready to instruct the first
Defenseless underling you meet?

Never the younger ones;
You want them to admire you.
No, the older ones;
They don't know your rules.

They paid for your advancement,
And they will pay again
For not calling you "Ma'am"
And letting tears flow when you can't.

You were one of the most
Unliberated women
I've ever met,
My dear.

You "came up" after the bra-burners.
Earned a degree and worked
In a field that was then
Ruled by men.

You knew about "the glass ceiling,"
And you "dressed for success,"
Finally, after calling in some favors,
Marrying your boss.

I truly hope the years have brought you
Wisdom and, with it, self-respect,
Serenity and happiness,
All more precious than "success."

And I hope your marriage blossomed,
Evergreen and supportive.
I hope your children love you,
And you them, bright or not.

I hope you allow yourself to cry,
But that you don't need to often.
I wish you self-knowledge and
True sophistication.

I hope you've learned that
Feminism means
Not acting just like the boys,
But being empowered.

Most of all, I think, I hope
That if we ever meet again,
We can ask each other "How are you?"
And care.

© 2003 Clara Blair, June 25, 2003