To tell the truth


In order to tell the truth,

I have to be as pressing

as a used car salesman,

sell what’s on my mind

at all costs,

Stop freezing

when the door is shutting,

Stop waiting for my invitation.


Today the doctor’s hand

pawed the doorknob when I said,

"I have a question"

and he answered, "yes"

while he jiggled the metal again.

In that split second,

I used my mind

to decide if his disruption

was deliberate,

wanting a way for him to stay

"the nice guy",

instead of asking him to Stop.

I didn’t want to put a stench in the friendly air

filled with his huge handle rattling smile.

So I swallowed the evidence,

opted for internal pollution.



To tell the truth to you, my love

when your comments are caging

the space that awaits me,

I have to stop

searching for a place

where pain is erased

to preserve your innocence,

while my own hands shrivel.

I want to enlarge each room,

wedge in my truth,

every day, every hour,

savor every moment I’m given.

And it will hurt,

These walls are always too heavy.

I’ll want to crumple rather than

push through the agony.

But I will do it anyway.

I will

I will.

I will tell my truth.


-MegAnn 5/99