Poem: I Leave It All to You

And lie or fiction, I leave it all to you, protesting that it was not me, but my shadow.

I Leave It All to You Biography is a lie told innocently,     a compiling, but a life is not a compilation,     nor is a man     the summing up of all his facts My true life is lived behind walls,     some of it in the dustiest of corners Only small portions revealed,     as though someone had peeked     through the dishevelment of mortar,     broken away and crumbling Not in darkness, but light dim enough     that even I see myself un-clearly Autobiography is a softer fiction,     spilled out in the winding paths     we would have chosen for a leisurely stroll,     mostly in someone else’s shoes A life seen from the inside, as we hear our voice     in a different tone than the listener and     are surprised at the sound recorded Writing my life, I’d skim across the happenings,     filling endlessly with what was meant,     chucked full of the kindnesses     buried in every thoughtless moment,     tirelessly forgiving all my sins So the one is too much outsider interpretation,     all strictness, too little bleeding     as the subject must have bled The other an endless bandaging,     the frantic covering of wounds still open,     avoiding the infection of truth,     whatever that truth may be The clarity of a life, meticulously researched,     or lived with all its subtleties     is too confounding a thing for writers     and lie or fiction, I leave it all to you Protesting that it was not me, but my shadow

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.