Sometimes a lie can hold
a truth too big for facts,
refill a rainbow with wonder
after it has been taken apart and rebuilt.
But stories are not tame creatures.
A well-treated one may offer comfort,
but a mean one battles with reality
like squid and whales, red in verb and symbol.
And sometimes a lie gives permission,
a way to do what cannot be said.
To craft a narrative that we are under attack
from an armada of small boats
and must justly go to war.
To cut the thumbs from the scales
and let merit ascend
in just the way that restores received hierarchy.
To say we’ll crack down on criminals
so we can disappear brown grandmothers
and undesirable babies.
And meanwhile, at the edge of my town there’s a forest,
and since my daughter was small I’ve told her
that a unicorn lives there,
and to make sure she takes care of it.