“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth” ~ Buddha
He regarded me intently, peering over metal rims: “What’s your Truth”?
An ambivalent word. It sounds honest and yet hides a multitude of sins. Where to begin?
Decades past, the girl within battled to purge Truth from her lips. Struggled with vowels, syllables, syntax … how to make words? String them together and still breathe?
The mocking disbelief and well-meaning platitudes stuck in my throat like a fish bone.
Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.
My body screamed in a mute world.
It made me question … “Did that really happen?”
Female submission … second-guessing doused with doubt, guilt, shame.
How to name Truth?
Buried for decades, as Hercules buried Hydra’s heads. The bliss of forgetting held me in her comatose embrace.
“You were a pliable girl,” mother said.
So pliable, I chiselledTruth into a manageable mass; safely entombed in deep, dark recesses.
Until one day, Truth seeped through layers of metamorphic rock into the light of consciousness.
This time, he would not retreat, back away, disappear.
Truth was so near, I could taste the revulsion.
Now a woman, Truth and I faced off, and he was left wanting.
He made me the warrior I am.
Artemis breathes in my bones.
Bones aged long enough to carry the weight.