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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4087 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Primary Colors Treezaa (T. E. Ballard) Honesty came natural; it was the lying that took time. My body stretched in the back of an Impala watching the moon follow us home. I remember nothing of what my father or my mother said, yet I remember the feeling, ropes tightening around my wrists, a snake crawling in the pit of my belly. It was an illusion this truth, they had nursed me on lemons and I was meant to be good not pure. Answer the questions politely, never ask for more than what I was given. Lies, it took time to master the skill to breathe evenly, to keep my voice steady. My eyes did not waver or bobble like a bobber but focused straight ahead. Soon the ropes had wound in so many layers, the onion of my heart drew clear, there was no discerning between truth or what grew from my tongue. Once I read of a man, a psychologist of sorts who taught his children all the wrong colors. This is a red sky he said, a blue tree, and a green dog. He fed them on misconceptions to prove his theory that all knowledge is learnt there is no genetic wisdom. I name these children: brother, sister as I slice the bread to feed them the yellow throats of the flowers. I do not want the weight of my daughters. They watch me like small birds, their mouths continually open while I try to weed out the snakes in my belly. I want to say there is no truth this is all we have been given. The ones you love are paper and soon you will see through them. I am a liar yet their mother, the memory before, the one of my childhood when I believed my parents to be gods, it is the color of the moon. I will call it orange. |
