That smell of dirt, of eucalyptus
Of old banana peels
Our lonely dog barking behind the fence
You said I’d told a lie
That when you tell one
Your soul is stained forever
That it’ll never wash out
I was surprised
It was, I think
The first time I felt regret
Remorse, fear
I don’t remember what lie I was supposed to have told
Just the squeeze around my heart
Knowing I was no longer pure
I was three
You eleven
And what you said you too believed
We were both stuck in that circle
Of control and reproach
Our Church gave us
Today I say
That three-year-old
Was blameless
She was beautiful
And still is
And I curse that instinct
Man has
To try to determine
The value of others
It is far better to live a truthful life than to point fingers - but the categorical imperative is harder to live up to.
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