What I’d said that morning was the truest kind of lie, I guess,
containing fear at its heart . .
Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams (1991)
Fear, after all, is multi-faceted—
Prismed glass pretending to be diamond—
Generating lies primed to cleanse the past,
Protect the present, serve as future’s pawn.
Those frantic childhood squeals—“it wasn’t me!”
Responses to hormonal dreams—“I have
To wash my hair.” “I didn’t ax that tree.”
Such lies a pharmaceutical, a salve.
The politicians’ scaffolding—those lies—
Because malignant truth would bring them down.
Those lies, a lover’s poetry—his sighs
A stratagem—“Strip off your clinging gown.”
Imagine, if you can, a world all true—
Would it be happier, or scarred by rue?
(2/14/12)