She brought it up that old trip

She brought it up, that old trip,

the details fuzzy, on her lip.

'And remember that market? You found that weird thing,

the little ceramic bird with the broken wing?'

I just nodded, a slight, quick dip.

The bird had been fine. I'd bought it for a laugh.

But somehow, years back, a small fib,

slipped out, about its brokenness, its half

-hearted charm. And now it was true,

in her mind, etched solid and deep.

I let it stand, as I always do.

Another small lie, that I just couldn't keep

from growing roots, a quiet, tight hold.

A small thing, but heavy, and getting old.