sisters, seize your stories by the throat
and shake them until their teeth rattle
pluck those things you thought to be truths
petal by page until there are no words
left
aligned
sputtering sadly across stiletto-heeled sheets
weep over them. Let tears
weaken what has been thought
as who you were
let the black wash into beautiful flowing lines
with no exact meaning
just a little bit of more truth
for the moment
tear bindings apart, if you have to,
let the guts wobble their way out
into the sunshine where they can warm
from the freeze we have been in
because someone decided who we were
and made ice sculptures of our warmest wishes
seep out of the blur and dance a dirge,
make others think you have lost their mind
of you
of us
write poetry about yourself on blossoms,
press words that come from the tip of your tongue
onto lips of lovers,
onto cheeks of sisters,
onto fingertips of children
let those who care to know you
taste your purple passion, pulsating
somewhere in the center of your head
but never give it away
no story is worth much without cost
we paid our dues, sisters. Look,
a fire of fine books soon delivers ashes
that the wind picks up
or the rain makes cement of
let your story be carved with kisses,
with cup of hand
to breasts, to lovers’
wishes to enter that sacred channel
and find the voice that tells it all
in blue lines we have filled in
with purple words and turquoise tears
that were, for that moment,
our most real story
Tags: Letters to My Sisters by Shewolf
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