Aunty - A Prose Poem

Aunty

When did I become the one to be censured? At what point in my life did you cease to make me any allowance? Were it my height; an age; my son? I remember when you used to say, ‘what a good girl she is ... in spite of it all’. It was OK for you, wasn’t it? You who sat so high, the clouds cushioned your monumental head. I couldn’t see it then like I do now, how you denigrate the ones you claim to love. If only she, and I, could live by your tenet, I imagine he could be spared your pity. It used to be me you pitied. It was of me you would say, ‘she could do so well, if only...’ If only, what? If only a damn were given, my ability recognized? Well, did you give a damn? I ask, at what point did you decide to hold me responsible for my actions, and how could you hold me such, if no scaffold were erected or path laid?