Friday nights

That was my stool I would sit on
once a week next to my sister
and we’d talk and talk over dreams
and wishes, like kids
at an overnight

As the night wore down
and the head grew more inebriated
we confessed all our sins
baptizing one another in club soda
with a twist

Waking up next to each other
with all our confessions
cut into paragraphs
spending our Mondays
pasting them back together

we had to struggle to get here
and here is not even finished yet–
for all our work–we can relax now
knowing I love you and you love me–the
rest we can work out over time
because we already took care
of the hard part