The Eyebrow

I mentioned it to my sister last week.

Just said it, casual, like it was small.

She raised her eyebrows—just that slight tweak—

and I watched her face, and I knew it all.

The expression that says I don't believe,

the micro-shift that calls you a liar,

the way her eyes go distant, and you grieve

the truth you were telling turning to fire.

I've seen it before. I know what it means.

It's just an eyebrow, a moment, a tell,

but it lands like a fist and it intervenes

between what is real and what you can sell.

By the time I was done, I'd backed down too,

softened the edges, made it all small.

"Never mind," I said. But I knew it was true.

And I watched her not believe it at all.