“laura ruth,” i say,
“but what’s the point?!!”
sisters chuckle their nods:
ain’t it the truth!
but she’s on a roll
her pride and tradition
won’t have none of you.
girl! when are you going to learn?
ever since you known me
and ever since i known me,
concise
is not in my vocabulary.
you ask about my point: listen closer.
each time you hurry me
it’s like you move my home
a foot farther north.
let me tell you, sweet sister,
i have already given up
my present tense
to be in this climate,
do not ask me to give up my past.
she doesn’t miss a beat,
catching the last tangent
as she winds its way
ever farther in the story line.
the more i try for her brevity
the taller her tale becomes.
we all know
there’s some flattery going on here,
so i let my sister
have her exaggerations and her inventions,
because she has her whisps of truth.
truth is small and sacred,
as invisible as a hurricane.
those whisps she offers
knock me square & speechless…
she just picks up the slack.
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