Dear Sister — Williams O’Seun

Dear Sis,

I know I may ne’er know

How you keep easy and in mirth

Accustomed to the snug bra-strap’s banding, even in snow

Brassiere, like the horse’s girding girth

Darling sister,

I sense I may ne’er get the senses

Of how, monthly, you war within wriggly

Tho’ you win, suffer bloodshed– menses

An esoteric war waged wryly, singly.

Beloved sister,

I reckon I’ll ne’er fathom

How you bear bairns bellyful

When a miracle inflates your tummy like a phantom

Half lady, half floating, bloating pufferfish—awful.

Dear sis,

‘Tis true I can ne’er really construe

What it is to be a lady—so much is involved!

Ofttimes, I misconstrue: “Why makeup? … Why see-thru?”

Now, I know—’Tis how she’s evolved!