-for a twin
Sarah, did we always know a girl’s place
was fingering the folds open, the slip
of our slickness between
sheets how to strip
a bed after staining?
You tucked a flawless hospital corner
then got into his bed
and died.
Were we fertilized eggs
or just the slough-off
from our mothers?
We kept bleeding.
I will bleed until I die.
You showed all the early signs of failure:
named your cat Fraidy
starved your bones to ash, left
not one flower behind –
not even me, the failed
twin.
Because living
without you is.
There are two towels in the washer,
two dirty facecloths, one mine,
the other for my body.
You will understand.
I pair socks,
place the lost babies
in the basket and float them
through the reeds
to safety.
I can only make no sense
of the laundry banging inside the dryer
but it sounds like us.
I swear I can hear the pennies
we left in our pockets.
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