Truth

What is the nature of the border 
between truth and lies? 
It is permeable and blurred 
because it is planted thick 
with rumour, confabulation, 
misunderstandings and twisted tales. 
Truth can break the gates down, 
truth can howl in the streets; 
unless truth is pleasing, 
personable and easy to like, 
she is condemned to stay 
whimpering at the back door.

from Bring Up the Bodies by Hilary Mantel

A Drone Scans the Wreckage

A Drone Scans the Wreckage

Smoke gets in my eyes,

My fifteen eyes.

Glass insulation smolders.

Pink tongues get stuck on it.

Charred cotton candy.

Did I do that?

Palm tree shorn of its head.

Cathedral ceilings, opened up

To the stars, to the stark.

What did they worship in there?

The overhead fans?

The bolsters? The naked bedspread?

I spy.

They cried O God to the pillows.

Now ripped and fluttering,

Angel feathers.

These hover, slower than me.

See raw finger paint. Red.

Wet still crawling.

Must have missed something.

Better home in again.

Do some stuttering.

Attapat. Attatat. Attastasis. Attaboom.

Accurate this time. Rah.

Anything saved equals failure.

Was I bad?

Teardrops fall and fall.

The rain shower’s broken.

      --Margaret Atwood

The New Yorker

August 13 & 20, 2012