Tonight's Poet Corner: They Made Me Their Fool

They Made Me Their Fool
by Belinda Roddie

They draped me in raiment when I was eight years old,
jingled the metal worm in my ear like a carriage bell, and
laughed when the pearl inside my brain
screamed and died out and my
speech came out slurred and stupid. They told me to
dance like a fool, and to caper like a fool - to
laugh like a fool, to fall like a fool, and to cry like a fool.
They expected me to burn my feet on
hot playground asphalt, smashing the tanbark into my
cheekbone and leave the splinters sticking out,
garishly, for them to sneer at.

Because I was their
harlequin marionette, and they
wanted to tarnish my diamonds before they could sparkle.

Now I'm older, and a little bit clearer,
and I'm still a fool - but I'm the wise fool who
clarifies errors to an erroneous king, through a
smile and a slick sliding sound from the
back of my tongue. Reminding him
of the right ways he might be
all sorts of wrong, while making him
relish every silver word dripping molten from my mouth,
spicy garnish atop his platter of self-proclaimed intellect.

I am the jester who can run an empire better than its
emperor - a performer who can make them howl while
serving liquid epiphanies in white goblets, so they can
see their reflections in the crystal and
understand their lack of
kindness. I doff my hat to my audience, because I
don't pity them. I entertain, and I educate, and I
want to see them shake and holler from their own
misdemeanors, just as they
point and screech at my own.

Don't worry - I find time to cry, and ponder, and
write, and seep in nectar through a
whistle in my nose. I sing and dance as well as
any floating alibi. The bubbling ringleader. The
hula hoop-eyed avatar. Handling sweets, but
feeding meats, and
never asking for tips.