Tiny secrets

I was standing at the bathroom sink, electric toothbrush in hand, cleaning my teeth before bed. As I stared in the mirror searching for bright spots in the day instead of wrinkles on my face, my husband Michael walked in after a workout.

“Hey, did you see the poem I sent you on Instagram,” he asked.

No, what poem, I replied.

“The one by my favorite poet, the woman from Canada who has a real knack for writing the truth.”

I stopped mid-brush, toothpaste spilling from my mouth.

Favorite poet, I mum...