Testimony

 

It’s like you’ve been subpoenaed — you get grilled

about everything you know, everything

you did and what you meant, the room is filled

with paparazzi and you want a drink

but the water glass is just out of reach

beyond the bubble of light that surrounds

you. Isn’t it true? demands a voice. Each

time you try to answer, all your words sound

like bird calls, like wind rushing through the trees,

a hard, merciless wind, and all you want

is some water, not these questions, these reasons,

these stories, these lies, these dust motes dancing

in the light, swirling like smoke . . . just some

water, you’re thinking, or maybe a beer,

a cup of tea — you just want to go home.

Anything but this, anywhere but here.

 

 

© Michael Fleming

Brattleboro, Vermont

November 2019

 

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