Defining truth to a left-brained 10th-grader

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Defining truth to a left-brained 10th-grader
But what is truth? 
                            It’s when Ms. Martin in 
the yellow house is raking up her leaves, 
and inside chilling lemonade for all 
her sons who’ve moved away. 
                                            That’s not the truth.
Is it a lie? 
             But really, what is truth? 
It’s when a child’s chalky hands peel up 
the crispy earthworms in the cul-de-sac, 
to ask his sun-burnt friend if he knows why 
people and worms go flat. 
                                       Old age and accidents. 
No not the 'what', the ever-present 'why'. 
I want a definition.
                   Go watch a daughter hug
her mom down at the terminal, or see a pastor’s  
shaky hands flip through the pages of 
a KJV. Go see an old man cry. 
Do you know what a definition is?
Do you know what the truth is?
I'm asking you.
Then listen. Listen to the silence of
a baby's breath. Listen to the scrape
the windblown leaf makes sliding down your street
like old man fingernails.
So truth is leaves?
And Ms. Martin raking them behind
the yellow house.
That’s not what I am asking. 
Yes it is.

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