Little Sister

My little sister came over. We drank shots of patron. She needs to come over more often. Talking about authors and why my tree’s still up. She understands and doesn’t judge. She’s an artist, violinist. We discuss tequila and cheeto’s, bright orange and green like spring. And my favorite thing, she hugs. Something counted on. Like the Christmas lights, I like to open my blinds at night. The neighbors, what they gonna say. And we laugh at that. Stubborn in our deepest feelings, free and painted in our portraits. Planted as perennials bounced back to life. I’m missing her after thirty minutes. I wish, like when tinsel was in season, like dinner tables and out in the backyard playin’ like this or any other time, but one, we were. Sitting in the same space…interrupting each others stories.
It’s boring to some. Heartwarming to me. And I think music is what she sent. A present.

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