Letter To My Sister

Letter To My Sister


He hits you.

Believe me I know
how much you think you’ll miss him,

because you’ve got yourself convinced
that it makes you

special; that he’s singled you out
as his one and only

victim, and there’s a certain sense
of intimacy in that. I guess you think

that if you left, his fists would atrophy
from lack of use;
he would die alone,

and all of that.
You think it’s love.

But I have to tell you something.
I saw him at a bar the other night.

He was with a blonde, she looked 22,
maybe younger. She said something
and I turned.

He had his fingers curled into a fist.
And she was crying.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on My Favorite Bullet