Lies Copyright 1993 © Florence Cox

Her mother, and her mother’s ally, God,
were so damned fierce
that childhood, with its innocent mistakes,
was quite impossible.

She remembers the terror
as milk bottles lugged from the shop
dropped as she skipped up the front steps;

or the change from the fish shop fell
from her hand and really did roll down a drain.

The retribution for small accidents
- first the private fear,
then the horrible beating -
was so intense she only lived at all beneath a carapace of lies.

There was always the hope,
however thin and small,
that God and her mother weren’t watching.

Deceit as a means to live
sank into her skin. She learnt to act.
Now she lies to all who love her,
makes profession of pretending,
knocks at the old priest’s door
when the lies run out.

Commended in the Suffolk Poetry Society Crabbe Memorial Poetry Competition, 1993.
Judges: Andrew Motion and Anthony Thwaite