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 .