Our mother told us every detail of her day
including Marsha Howe, a hillbilly
who wore tight bellbottoms & butted in the P.O. line.
In our house, quiet meant a void to fill.
Me Episodes, my brother & I called our
nightly tales about ourselves, the Snickers
he stole, the Lemon Peeler I saw Bill
Klondaris ride by on. She let us stay up
for the FBI with Efrem Zymbalist Jr, even
The Epilogue we called the apple hog.
But you are not my brother & we’re fine
with silence at a corner table, drinking wine.
Hilary Sideris has recently published poems in The American Journal of Poetry, Bellevue Literary Review, Free State Review, Gravel, The Lake, Main Street Rag, Rhino, Salamander, and Southern Poetry Review. She is the author of Most Likely to Die (Poets Wear Prada 2014), The Inclination to Make Waves (Big Wonderful 2016), Un Amore Veloce (Kelsay 2019) and The Silent B (Dos Madres 2019).