A light bell
the scent of almonds dangling kite tails
from the spine of a Foehn wind
before the rapid descent of a katabatic Oroshi
voids the gullied rain shadow
A bird invades a larch tree
rapid backstroke of wings replicates
the sound of playing cards
clothes pinned to my bicycle spokes – Harley rumble
strategically placed by you, my sister,
to be run over by Dad’s truck
twisted paralyzed and silent
How could I betray you
after you confessed?
After you confessed
that it was you who threw me out of the truck window at 40 mph
an infant stone, I hit dirt – rolled along the roadside
the scar on my left frontal arch
now slips into crow’s feet
Who knows what pebbles of lies are caught
in the crop of birds caught
by the larch tree caught
by the wind caught
by my ear and the spider that crawls
from hair to hair on my gossamer arm – an evening glove of magic
the spider – silent to my ears – but my hair hears her humming
songs of truth while she weaves while
she climbs my alpine shoulder, my meadow nape of neck
How could I betray you?
After the intimacy of struggle?
The weave of swallowed words?
Image: “Nicole on the hill dark” by Rob King, licensed under CC 2.0
Truth: What do we do with it? Is it a new truth? An old truth? Who will it change? Or perhaps, it will change nothing. What do we do with the truths that change nothing?
As an Artist, a writer and human being, I can bear witness to these truths to acknowledge their existence, and the fact that something – an event – occurred and not only do I acknowledge and validate this truth, I will speak of this truth in a way that changes us.
As a writer, an Artist, I hope that my observations from a variety of perspectives initiates conversation about whatever the poem inspires among readers. Difficult conversations are essential to build and support any community, any relationship.