How easy to distill the past,
sifting out impurities
so a clean silky edge
will soothe another’s tongue.
Serve up what flatters,
spit out distasteful lapses; swallow
raw memories and let them sink
into our tender parts
deep into the silted
heart of gray.
The lies we
tell each other,
tell ourselves.
We are all revisionists
editing our histories, omissions
catered to the prevailing
whims of taste and culture
until intimacy unmasks us.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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