My sister
lives in Billings,
A four hour
drive down an empty road
Sagebrush
south toward Wyoming.
We are
separated by history
More barren
than this winter geography.
Once I
picked tender rhubarb, first fruits,
An offering
of the grace of spring.
She backed
away, spit words at me,
Don’t you
remember, I am on a diet.
What am I
going to do with these?
She refused
to go to dinner with me.
I need to
feed my dog, my cat.
I never know
what will trigger
Her hurt. I
search for magic
To erase the
madness. I write
Chatty
letters to bridge the gap,
Each letter
harder to write. Pain
Measures a
short distance long.
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