The monkey jar comes from an old Indian story, the villagers place fruit

in the bottom of large jars to catch the monkeys .  The monkeys get

their hands stuck in the jars because they are holding the fruit  and

can only escape , if they let go of it .

 

Truth has many faces

colour blends to see- through white ,

paradox lies  in muddied puddle

of who did what , who won the fight .

 

Your presence is a mirror

reflecting carelessly the me you see

& I watch the canvas that you paint

each fine flecked line , each clichéd comma

each hackneyed band of femininity.

 

I choose the day &  truth I wear

soft dresses ripe for harvest

but something other calls my name

a distant cloudburst , sun through rain ,

a sweetened wine I long to drink

 

not the salted kind you’ve offered me

your tight ribbed stab at honesty

& I let my monkey stumble free

to find the way ,

where truth will wear my own face .