A Woman Unlike Me

She never really enjoyed the pleasure
Of others being in love with her
Living on the top of the old hill as she did.
She never really held tight the need
To be best at what she wants,
To look in a different mirror,
Or soften the edges of her ideas, thoughts, voice.
It never occurred to her to make herself different.
Frosted and primed for a gala event.

How interesting she is in her not caring
To care about the caring
That knocks on her door and is delivered
Like a warm butter cake, like a
Sack of apples just pulled from the tree,
Like a deep cut to the arm
That needs tending.
Never does it occur to her.
As she wraps a scarf around her neck tightly
And heads out the back door.
Striding fast and determined
To the whim of her wants.