Rebecca Watkins
The Truth

They say they know the truth.
As if the truth was something you could trap with a snare
As if it belonged to a religion or a region.
As if truth was something you could get by claiming,
By brainpower alone; no heart, no hands.

They say they know the truth.

As if life could hold truth
Without truth shaping life.

As if truth was closer
To the surface than the center.

As if truth was something you could own,
And keep until you were ready to give it to others.

They say they know the truth.

About reality.

Don't get me started on reality.

KKK

These rooms stink of wet stone and wet wood -
And they smell of corruption and decay.
Old kind faces that gaze from the walls
Have their secrets that wound those who pray.
Scorning hymnals, and knuckles grasped white,
And the tombstones in forests in Maine
The old hate flames once more in the dark -
White robes, black cross burned on my brain.

<< Back to Issue 3, 2000