loader image
La Piccioletta Barca - Issue 16
A Liar’s Crescendo

A Liar’s Crescendo

You believe
she is fragile and transparent.
You fear if you took her in your arms
she’d crack. Perhaps you’d spill
her glittering shards across the ground and
they’d be crushed under the steps
of nearby souls. This taking would be
too much trouble, so instead you watch as
she limps forward, dragging her broken pieces
behind her. Their spines bind her to the earth
with the hungry mouths of her past.

You do
nothing while choosing to admire
her refusal to surrender. Each determined step
betrays her desire to remember how to rise.
Her momentum is a painful melody, tragic in its denial
or is it ignorance of her plight grown too heavy to carry.
This is how she could make you want to imagine
another more. But you are deaf to her offerings. Instead,
you imagine a different kind of taking.
Her colors will feed your collection, well schemed.

You crave
her warmth, a painful light you cannot resist touching.
When she sings her sorrow you listen, knowing
her truth hides while she shares her fragments with the world.
You stay awhile to feed belief in new possibilities. You tell her
we are just building our crescendo. Music, like healing,
takes time. Room to blossom, so it can breathe its own rhythm.
You lie. The truth is cleaner. Nastier.

You say
each gentle instrument will be consumed until it births
a perfect embrace, revealing a melody that carries forward.
So while your past doesn’t pull like hers, you tell
of shining acceptance. This telling brings the last notes
needed to climax. You offer this last falsehood, then
let the orchestra fade. The violin cries before exiting stage left.
This union’s heartbreak drips an unfair melody across your eyes
until they meet hers, and you decide to soar onward.
Without her.

She is blessed—alone with the symphony, rather than with you.

And the Wheels Go ‘Round and ‘Round: A Salutation to Depression

And the Wheels Go ‘Round and ‘Round: A Salutation to Depression

i’ve become adept
at beating back
the darkness.
i’ve learned how
to grasp pain
by the throat
and strangle his voice
within the shadows.
i know how to press
Weakness deep
until his cries are
too faint to be heard
by anyone but me.
when you cut me,
i may bleed,
but i will not
let myself
grow faint
at the sight of it.
i know how
to bury betrayals
and disappointments
beneath my skin,
to create
the illusion
that i am untouched
by the latest dagger
life has plunged
into my back.
this false security
is a daring yet
solitary place.
if only i were in
hope’s reach,
my secret
might be revealed.
you might feel
my soul ache
and shift,
feel it trembling
beneath the surface.
to recognize
your lost self
behind my eyes.
i wait for someone
to remember
my light.

Pin It on Pinterest