Tag: A Poem About

I will tell you what to see—

Everything but me—

A variety:

First, the shape my lips take

When I smile

Then, only aspects of my style—

The ones that deceive the senses

Lower your defenses

Make you wonder

Confidence thrown asunder.

A breeze

Whizzing by your certainty

A tornado—

Or a reverie—

Where the facts

Are art-i-facts

Designed to twist

To burrow in your mind

Then to grow

Into trees of truth

Where flowers of falsified youth

And branches that carry the load

Explode into blossoms and

Inspire.


Time evaporates into years

My collection has piled

Your recollection defiled

Melted

Reshaped

Into unknown

Unsuspected, unsuspecting

Wisdom flown

From your mind

And into my hands

Like clay

Shaped, reshaped

The size of the holes

On either side of your nose

Where what you see

Is only dreams—

The ones I dare to

Echo

Deflected from the truth

Reflected onto the marquee

Like a refugee memory

No longer sure

Which way

Is home.


I will choose the color,

You will trust my hand

Not because your will is irrelevant

Only because

You cannot understand—

And—

You trust

The choices

I make

Wait for the plans

The paths

That I take

Like a child—

Hope outstretched

Faith recklessly displaced—

Still you smile

And wait to see

What you will be-come

When the operation is done

Your vision restored

To my point of view

The illusion of Truth

Wrapped inside

Like a film reel

Reflecting

My cinematic lies.


The seed is sown

The deed is done

Now water it with your tears

Blink until you make it your own

Follow my finger

First up and then

Down

First left and then

Right,

“Don’t fight

let it be

trust me

I know the plans

I have for you:

to kill the boredom

to steal the dream

to destroy the blinding vision

to replace it with soothing

fabrication and

elation

for today.

Today is all that matters.

One more spin

Your view will be new—

you will thank me

when I am through.”


“I can see”

said she who trusted.

“Thanks for your selection.

How can I repay your

close attention,

touch easing apprehension,

voice soothing

the searing dissonance of

incomprehension?”

She wiped a tear

From the corner

Of her newly installed

Perception.


She who answered

Leaned in

Close

Low

Bestowed the wages

To be collected on

Another day,

“Only three things I pray:

go further than you intended to go

stay longer than you intended to stay

pay more than you were willing to pay.”


I will tell you what to see—

Everything but me—

I will whisper in the breeze

Rolling from the sea,

Caress your lips

From a hot cup of tea,

Sing in your ear

On the notes of a melody,

Just as long

As you agree

Never

To set me free.

© Jill Szoo Wilson, 2025