You, who was so colourful. You gave me nightmares, but I Ilived with them because I had a love for you that transcended all loves and dared not gainsay you. Did we ever get to be such as this?
The Color of Your Indifference
If I said Orange!
with a disgusted look, handed
you that word
as if it were a dead bird left
on the porch by the neighbor's bug-eyed cat,
you would push my hand away.
Gently, of course, and with a quiet laugh
as if I were six in knee socks afraid of a circus clown,
but push my hand away
all the same.
You'd turn Orange! into the plight of gypsies
in the nineteenth century, the argument in favor
of partial-birth abortions, the benefits
in the re-instatement of public executions,
but all the debates, the discussions, the diatribes
would not defend the giving back of Orange! without
a glance at the word itself.
And so I'm an actress,
giving you whatever play I choose to write, whichever
performance I deem necessary for my own end.
I am an actress
with a blind audience.
I am a liar.