memoir or fictionalized truth

“Men’s memoirs are about answers; women’s memoirs are about questions. Most male authors want to look good in their memoirs and have a place in posterity, while most women know that posterity is what happens when you no longer care. Women want to connect with others here and now; they couldn’t care less about legacy!   –  Isabel Allende

 

Another way of looking at it: 

 

“I have always distrusted memoir. I tend to write my memoirs through my fiction. It’s easier to get to the truth by not claiming that you are speaking it. Some things can be said in fiction that can never be said in memoir.  

 –  Armistead Maupin

*

memoir or fictionalized truth

today

both feet

perched on the edge – a precipice

pulling stories together

exposing more than self

lighting a few candles

would be an effort in

futility

opting for the wrecking crew approach

deciding it was time

breaking down doors

wrenching skeletons

long entrenched

now meticulously scrutinized

committing their crimes

to print

my greatest transgression

bearing witness

for those who were silenced

giving them a voice

while finally trusting

my own

changing names

to protect those not

yet born

and only reality is left

defamed

*

 bisous,

léa

Artifacts

“If you can’t get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you’d best teach it to dance.”
– George Bernard Shaw

“There is something about a closet that makes a skeleton terribly restless.”
– Wilson Mizner

“Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.”
– Audre Lorde

Artifacts

A poet

Talks of

Old notebooks

Journals

Filled with

The bones

She hardly

Recognizes

Cadavers of

Her hearts

Pouring

Of the past

Yes it is

Her writing

But she cannot

Get back inside

The feelings

Dialogue

Did he have

A middle name

Now blended

With the dust

Unrecognizable

Do I avoid

Old journals

Because they are

Passé

Or because

I know

My skeletons

Have tongues

Bisous,

Léa