Dressed For Dinner or The White Dog That Had To Be Black

One warm evening,

In late Indian Summer,


Little Brothers, and

I were eating supper

By the big window,

Near the kitchen.

This window

Overlooked a

Dirt  crossroads.

A street light

Made a

Small pool

Of light


The surrounding

Darkness of the

Moonless  central

Florida night.

Mother decided

That she would

Find amusement

In  testing

A new theory.

Her hypothesis

For the Proposed


Mother could force

Me to acknowledge

Whatever she decided

Was, was.

Me, her oldest child,

The only daughter,

Her stubborn girl,

Who insisted on fair,

Her child

Implacable in truth,

Would be forced

To say,

White was Black.

She wanted

Me to understand

That from a

Certain perspective

Some things are

More important

Than truth.

I, stupid girl,

Learned nothing.

What is, IS.

Life is truth.

Saying a lie aloud

Is not truth.

The shame

Of survival

Bears it’s

Own witness.

I slyly allowed

Her to pretend


For the evening.

In magnanimous

Triumph, she

Did not punish

My Little Brothers

For being.

Mother even allowed

Them to eat

Their supper

Without having

To confirm

That the

White dog was

Bear . . . original 06.20.2013
. . . revised 06.11.2014
ⓒ Bearspawprint 2014



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