Bittersweet Truths

by Bob Brussack

Halfway between the car and the back gate
On one of those antiseptically sharp midwinter nights
When the air huddles, silent,
It occurs to me that the stars
Might be smiling slightly
As they listen in again
To the tales we retell ourselves
With each new season of dark and cold and snow
To keep at bay the bittersweet truths
We pretend we don’t know.