“There are two sides to every story”, he says.
Though I know he is wrong.
He snatches the letters away from me,
my hand which quivers with the spirit of her husband
is now empty, searching for more history.
An apologist is not worthy of having them.
They are astringent, they are hysterical and they all happen to be women.

“If she was alive now, you wouldn’t like her”.
He gives no insight except she had depression,
as if that made up for the don’t meet your heroes routine.
Her husbands blood is yours, you should wear it with honour
As if your roots aren’t riddled with petroleum
He said he loved birds but killed two with one stone
How is that genius, how is that mine?