Half-truths

“Half-truths”
 
My daddy is a farmer of stories.
And his daddy before was too.
I’d sit to listen and learn
a history full of half -truths
that I wove.
 
“We were horse thieves in Ireland!”
 Is a proclamation of pride. He tells this
as a mark of resilience and bellies up
to pint.
 
These freckles of mine,
line up to lasso that distant land.
Keeping what he can of culture and time,
the necessities of calling home.
 
Daddy sings into the deep stories
of past and now:
Stories of food and heritage and half-truths
that I weave.