True Story

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TRUE STORY



Not that it’s factual, edges whittled 

down to fit through the brittle mold 

of the cold credible. Neither does being


there quite merit the mark, our proclivity 

for center stage prone to warp 

the world into audience, though surely 


acting in it does play a part. What then? 

Goodness? Is it how it helps peel back

the bark to reveal the hidden grain 


of that twisted tree which is, in fact, 

fact? Is it that for the flower’s 

brief moment we don’t have to act? 


And who’s to say it won’t, one day, 

get up and slap us on the back

the way we imagine true things


are supposed to do, laughing 

like two old friends reunited after

all these years: Look at me? Look at you!

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