Mayday
We dance circles around one another sitting on our living room couch. In our hands we clutch colorful ribbons which we wind and twist around a stark white truth that neither of us can forget is there; and our light and carefree steps seem so spontaneous that we can almost forget that they're so carefully rehearsed to look that way and we can almost not hear the crash of leaden weight each time daintily pointed toes connect with the ground. And when the ritual is over we can look at all those pretty ribbons and almost forget that they need something underneath to hold them up -- that without truth all our lies would come crashing down on us. I look deep into her eyes and see the question there almost buried by her bright blue irises, and I answer yes and know she understands even though what she really asked was did I enjoy the dance? and as our eyes turn dumb again it's so easy to forget that she only looks like she doesn't understand so I will know beyond a doubt that she does. So we dance around and around wrapping our pretty ribbons around an ugly white reality, not to cover it up but to remind each other that it is there, and we hold the power of lies in our hands.
©2000 Elizabeth Hebert
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