4 Lies

No Disclaimers.

 

Lie 1: & at the end of the film they kiss.

 

Fireworks bloom violet sparklets

surrounding them 360 degrees

The mauve midnight sky is littered with

constellations reflecting in their eyes.

The park is absolutely aglow.

The busker with his saxophone

serendipitously plays their song;

something about your warm caresses.

Cherubs engraved in the water fountain

come to life. Their marble hands

shower the pair with baby blue pansies

                              & periwinkle snapdragons.

 

Lips locked, tongues tied,

their hearts race in unison,

her tender princess mouth quivering

as his massive protagonist palm

hugs the back of her head,

dishevels hay-colored locks,

pulls her closer as the music

crescendos

                   & credits roll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lie 2: My parents sold my sisters & I

 

on Disneyficated stories of how they met.

The cheerleader & cross country runner

found love in likely places:

ice cream parlors,

church youth groups,

sweltery California summers.

 

& at 18 in the wedding chapel

he kissed the pastor’s daughter

like he loved her.

 

Less than 9 months later

my older sister was born.

There were Minnie Mouse birthday parties,

annual trips to Anaheim,

& 2 more children later

he kept kissing her like he loved her.

 

He’d grill tri-tip steak & garlic bread.

She’d hush her insecurities.

Lie 3: On nights I was alone-

 

my younger sister sleeping over with her friends

& my mother sipping wine with hers-

I would be so eager.

 

“Good night, I love you, have fun,”

I’d call out.

& look up wedgie videos on Youtube.

Meet boys on Skype.

Turn computer to face basement door,

 

Strip to briefs.

Loop belt through legholes.

Step on chair.

Set belt on door hook.

Step off chair

& hang.

 

I’d clench my jaw

feeling rug burn on taint,

feeling my entire weight

on a strip of fabric.

The boy on the screen

would be as eager as me.

 

I got caught only once. Steamed broccoli,

overcooked, & brown rice,

turning cold, as I bit my tongue

in a five hour long interrogation feast.

My first inclination was to lie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lie 4: To be completely honest,

 

I don’t know how

to believe in love.