After

By Diane Elayne Dees

After you've hired the trainer,
changed your hairstyle, painted

the walls, bought a new wardrobe,
rearranged the furniture—

after you've risked new nail colors,
bought new shoes, discarded the mattress,

sold your jewelry, met with your bankers,
purchased better bras, changed the dinnerwear—

you luxuriate in the mauves and orchids
and teals and brightness of it all.

You are a new woman. The problem
is that the former woman—the younger,

broken one—is still there, admiring your
pencil skirts while mocking you

for thinking you could ever leave her
behind. She covets your freedom,

you desire her youth. The cleverly colored
house isn't big enough for the both of you;

you bump into each other at every turn.
Will she ever move out, you wonder,

or—after you've cried all your tears
and exhausted all your rage, after

you've stopped cursing reality—
will you just forgive her and let her be?