Rendered Fat Content


She was not born royalty.
Her father, former enemy combatant
turned immigrant,
her mother a wonk,
she, an only child.

Nor were her early years predictive.
Other than a keen eye
and a native enthusiasm,
little suggested her royal fate;
ascension neither birthright nor choice.

The winds might have been much wiser
than any benefactor could have been,
though she made friends easily
and refused to cultivate enemies.
She left no trail of fears behind her.

She volunteered,
saying yes much more often than no,
more know-when than know-how, I guess.
Now, of course, people want to know
how she came to show so well.

“Heck if I know,” she sagely insists,
“just lucky, I guess,”
Plucky, more like it,
more than one observer reflects.
She was always locked-and-loaded ready.

She sticks her magisterial thumb
into pretty nearly everything.
Nobody complains,
even when she gets underfoot.
Her presence proofs the sauce.

She complains rather quietly,
confiding her frustrations
rather than BANNER HEADLINING them.
She chooses to act instead,
Holding Diogenes’ lamp in his stead.

She seeks truth
even when she knows full well
she’s unlikely to find it.
She gets behind ill-formed ones
and pushes. Hard.

Some pretenders, she outlasted.
Others, she blasted out of her orbit.
She generously receives anyone,
supplicant or foe. One never knows
who they’ll need to know later.

Her wisdom seems simplistic,
as all great wisdom should.
Nobody could concoct true complication
if they truly understood.
Still hungry, she seeks more than she scolds.

She embodies generosity,
knowing it the far easier way.
She reveres innocent youth
much more than knowledgable age,
which makes her appear even more sage.

Curiosity, while reportedly fatal to cats,
seems to nurture The Queen Of Everything.
She rarely encounters anyone uninteresting.
She insists upon them telling their story,
then she appreciates whatever they say.

Today, not tomorrow, spans her reign.
Today, not even ten thousand yesterdays,
informs her distain of studied ignorance.
The only capital offense, offensiveness itself,
which extinguishes without her wrath.

Learning, I suspect, crowned her
The Queen Of Everything. Not knowledge,
not accumulated degrees; not learnedness,
dear me, perhaps the opposite of that.
She receives easily.

©2015 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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