You know you can tell

your sister;

you always could tell her

the the things you hid under your bed

from your parents.

 

Still, you shake at the thought

of letting the words

jump from your lips.

 

You’d tell you’re dad

but, of course,

you know he couldn’t handle it.

 

You’d tell your mother

but she could always read you;

she already knows the truth.

 

It’s late July

and the window to your left

reveals a pumpkin red moon.

 

Your hand shakes

as you grip the phone-

the truth is sweating out of you.

 

The couch, you know the couch,

the thirty dollar one you let your

folks give you

is speaking to you.

 

“Just call her, this has to be done.

Sorry, had to throw in my two cents.”

 

You look under the couch seat

and find five dollars in quarters

and a handfull of memories.

 

Your fingers rebel

and you dial your sister’s number.

 

“How are hun?”

 

You pause, staring at the bleeding moon.

 

“I… I just… wanted you to know how much I love you.”