Poetry #1

 A lie


Sitting on a wooden swing
eating pomegranate
deep red juice on her wrinkled chin
the sound of thick rope
thick rope against metal
tell me a story I ask
her mouth a black hole
pomegranate mashed in the black hole
no stories
no stories for children
her smell in my nose
she is rotting
her smell a shadow in my mouth
eat she says
I am her eighty years younger
ninety years old
pomegranate smashed on the floor
memories laid on the floor
tell me a story I ask
no stories for children
tell me the truth I ask