IV. She's Gone Away
Be still my trembling heart, be still! I, to myself, chastised
As I set foot upon the familiar soils of Atlanta.
Be still, And know you are here in strength - not in weakness, ?
To ensure that what is yours is safe. So go forth and have your fill
Of that sweet sought after satisfaction. No word heard I
From that grandiose tomb where Scarlett was known to dwell.
No word of any sort, for want of money, or a divorce, nor of the news
That I soon learned upon arrival: the mansion was put forth to sell!
And from my usual hiding place I spied a noble family,
Eating where she ate, playing where she played,
And living on the land where we lived out our sweetest and worst days.
Now, so disappointed, my heart could hardly be staid!
"You, mist', sir! Why ah' you hyah?" heard I, and so shot around,
Guilty of only surprise, and not being astute in my attempt to be kept unseen,
For I had stepped into the clearing to see in detail those new inhabitants
And so had been caught by an intrepid negro; a man quite tall and lean.
"Why, I came to see Mrs. Butler," I spoke with feigned elegance,
And was met by a confused expression. Answered he:
"She don' gon' moved bek tuh Tara, suh. You bes' be luhkin' thar."
And for this information I thanked him, and promptly went to flee.
It was foolish, of course, to never write. But I was yet determined
That I should not dignify my ill-treatment with any written interest.
Still, that she and they would take their leave, and, despite my two years
In absentia, bereave me of any regard did not sit well in my breast.
So Scarlett, thought I, this year I will not see you. Tomorrow I will go
To London to indulge in life's second best pleasure:
Other women. And though they are not the child I met in the dreamy Georgia
Of yesteryears, they will smile at me and know naught of my mismeasure.