The Untrustworthy Speaker by Louise Glück

Louise Glück

The Untrustworthy Speaker by Louise Glück

T.

I was hurting, and I said,

I’ll burn this fucking house down

. They worried that the neighbors will hear. Really? After everything that has happened, don’t you think everybody already knows what’s going on here? If you think otherwise then you’re a bigger fool than I am. The woman who has taken care of me since I was born didn’t say anything at first. She was peeling onions in the kitchen. It will be like this forever, I insisted. It’s hopeless to expect change. I’ll burn it all.

She turned to me. Just tell me when, she said, quietly.

The Untrustworthy Speaker

Louise Glück

Don’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken.

I don’t see anything objectively.

I know myself; I’ve learned to hear like a psychiatrist.

When I speak passionately,

that’s when I’m least to be trusted.

It’s very sad, really: all my life, I’ve been praised

for my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight.

In the end, they’re wasted—

I never see myself,

standing on the front steps, holding my sister’s hand.

That’s why I can’t account

for the bruises on her arm, where the sleeve ends.

In my own mind, I’m invisible: that’s why I’m dangerous.

People like me, who seem selfless,

we’re the cripples, the liars;

we’re the ones who should be factored out

in the interest of truth.

When I’m quiet, that’s when the truth emerges.

A clear sky, the clouds like white fibers.

Underneath, a little gray house, the azaleas

red and bright pink.

If you want the truth, you have to close yourself

to the older daughter, block her out:

when a living thing is hurt like that,

in its deepest workings,

all function is altered.

That’s why I’m not to be trusted.

Because a wound to the heart

is also a wound to the mind.

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poetry