I’ve always been a talker, partly so
because I love good words and memory,
but also to invite my friends to show
themselves with narrative and history.
At 20 I was sure I understood
my closest friends – we talked incessantly.
I think we thought our empathy was good –
we seemed to feel more fond than family.
Of late I’ve been amazed to learn how much
we didn’t think to share: that E was twined
to cousins whom she never spoke about;
that L was oldest of her cousin clutch,
while I was near the baby among mine.
How blithely we ignored what we left out…