The canonizing was
in truth
a trap,
as sure as steel bars
would have held her.
Though in this case
they were twisted by deception
to a crown.
The pedastal they set her on
in truth a cage.
The sainted image
she so readily put on
kept her locked up
in sweetness and self-sacrifice
and gave her only one
complaisant face to wear.
How could they tell
the voice in each of us
would one day swell
from docile silence
to this powering resonance
and shatter
the contorting legacy?
The two-edged sword of truth
in time
would set us free.
And we'd emerge
with dancing
from the rubble
of bent haloes and
discarded platitudes.
Dressed only as ourselves.
-- Deb Cooper