Coat

    At eleven I learned to lie.

    Disobedience and its partner，

    deception²， became my constant companions.

    How enormous then that first transgression³，

    against Father's command， a sin damning as Adam's：

    walking to school alone.

    We all lied， mother explained，

    it was. . .necessario.

    How else to survive

    Father's rages，

    his sweeping⁴ interdicts⁵

    and condemning⁶ opinions？

    Oh sweet allegiance of lies：

    siblings⁷ and mother bound

    together in a cozy⁸ tie！

    My brothers' lies

    were manly⁹，

    obdurate¹⁰， built to last.

    Mother's were infirm little things，

    infected from birth by her obstinate¹¹ grace，

    fated to die as soon as they hit the air.

    But this lie， the lie about me， was sturdy，

    knit， as it was， from the fiber¹² of maternal¹³ love

    and a wife's defiance¹⁴.

    Go ahead； it's right.

    Walk alone. Grow up.

    Each assurance a coercion¹⁵， each coercion a shame.

    The lie was a coat of mail

    I'd don each day， threading my arms

    through its leaden sleeves，

    pulling its weight over my head，

    steeling myself

    for my father's wrath¹⁶.

    In it I was strong and getting stronger，

    but tired， always tired.

    Oh to rest， shuck the lie and confess！

    Father forgive me， I knew not what I did！

    At night I'd rehearse the lines

    and pray for his cleansing¹⁷ fury.

    In the morning I'd meet him in the hall，

    already crabby in his gray lab coat，

    barking his harsh observations

    about my robe （pink： ridiculous）

    about my face （vacant）

    about my voice （inaudible）。

    Mother， how did we produce such an insect！

    I was used to this.

    Exasperated¹⁸， he would stuff his red frizz into a beret，

    hurl¹⁹ himself into his loden cape²⁰

    and bolt out the gate——too rushed for truths.

    Silenced again， I would resume my solitary²¹ mission，

    lugging²² my books， wearing my lie to school

    and back again， through the maze²³ of city streets.

    One day the mist briefly²⁴ lifted and I saw

    the winter sun pulsing silver and pale

    through a hole in the sky——a quiet disk

    hopeful as the moon.

    A face emerged， white whiskers smiling，

    familiar， professorial——an angel perhaps，

    or a friend of the family——

    here to guide me safely

    across the river to school.

    He took my bag and my arm，

    allaying²⁶ my fears with talk

    calculated to soothe²⁷， flatter， amuse.

    Gentile， cosí gentile.

    Ever faithful， he met me at my gate

    morning after sweet morning.

    We chatted carelessly the whole way，

    intimate as lovers，

    never a snag

    or worry to hold us up——

    I， grateful and happy，

    he gently leading the way.

    My trust deepened daily with his purpose

    and burrowed²⁸

    in the snug²⁹ darkness of short days

    where the new lie took root.

    From deep in the loam³⁰， the probing

    stem pushed to the surface.

    Meanwhile， the first lie grew light with practice.

    And my coat assumed

    the comfort of a uniform.

    His purpose， obscured from the start by fear，

    suppressed tenaciously³¹

    by innocence——canny innocence——

    flared³² up in a question，

    betraying an ignorance

    both clear and obscene：

    "Little Girl， would you touch me——here？"

    Suddenly my hand， sweetly warming

    in his flannel³³ pocket， was pushed

    to the hard， oozing³⁴ center.

    My hand recoiled³⁵.

    But the ooze³⁶ stuck.

    In that minute my childhood ended.

    I ran home as fast as my legs would carry me

    to hide my shame in the place

    where secrets were made and kept，

    willful little liar²⁵， disobedient

    sinner trying to find my way alone

    through fog， through lies.

    My life was filling up with secrets

    and deceit's secretions³⁷，

    loneliness and melancholy³⁸.

    I hugged my coat tight against my body

    so that the lies and I were one.