By Black Lily

I hear the firm, demanding knock of Shame
Buttoned up. Lips pursed. Overly punctual
Her greeting brisk. Perfunctory
She slips off her sensible shoes
Setting a precedent should any “in-the-house shoe wearers” dare
Pantyhose rubbing loudly against her bossy thighs
Her purse claims the head of the table.
I catch her surveying the culinary chaos.
Moments ago I was dancing with a dirty spatula
Splattering gravy on the cupboards
Now I’m silently beseeching the mischievous mess
As one does to long-begotten friends
that they would kindly disappear from Shame’s piercing sight

A knock breaks through
the noisy silence of words spoken but left unheard

It’s Guilt

My heart aches
There she stands
Her gaunt frame braced against the November wind
Already second-guessing her dress of choice
I can see it in the way she touches the front of her skirt
She removes her coat with tired, limp hands.
Her eyes search mine for approval
My voice climbs an octave
I overstretch my kindness
Exaggerate my exuberance to see her
She clears her throat
Straightens her shoulders to face Shame
They dip rather pathetically
Beneath Shame’s stern stare
I make a mental note to seat them
At opposite ends of the table
Shame is a bully to Guilt

Fear

She’s here
I summon what little strength remains
and open the door.
She pushes past me
Straight into the kitchen.
“Traffic was brutal,” she announces
“Was there a water main break?”
She follows me to the stove
Plucking an imaginary errant hair from my back
“What do you think of the stock market today?
Quite the rollercoaster!”
She doesn’t wait for an answer
“Of course, nobody seems concerned.”
Shame puffs out her chest
She loves it when Fear is rattled
Fear, finding herself an attentive audience
Begins again
The economy. The weather
The alarming decline of common sense
Shame interrupts to correct her facts
Fear takes offence
Guilt apologizes for the interruption
Though she hasn’t spoken.

I watch them dazzle and frazzle one another
with their well-intentioned togetherness
They jostle one another’s inner wounds
Knock elbows
Dinner struggles toward the table
I retreat to the hallway
I notice I’m wearing my shoes in the house
I stare at the wall
listening to the cacophony
as they fight for preeminence
Guilt interjects
her words swinging back, void
into her earnest face
Shame and Fear debate
as though their lives depend on it
Guilt wonders why she came
Shame has Fear by the short hairs

I take a breath

One last party
A farewell party, I remind myself
For these guests have truly become
the Uninvited…

I hear Hope, Love, and Grace are hosting a party
I think Joy is the guest of honour

Next Friday…
They said to bring your dancing shoes

Think I’ll send my RSVP
when this party is over…