Nest of Sisters

Summer, 2010 / No. 24

Another day spent

patrolling the box we’ve

nested ourselves in.

You take five steps

and I’m right behind you—

five steps, too.

We live in parallel.

Our inner solar system

of paradox and puzzle

the hemming membrane

that keeps everything out.

I strove to be the smaller one,

because everyone knows

the leader is liable.

When mother can’t not

look at us, she clutches

her chest in distress.

We are not the same,

but we wear each other’s name.

We sleep together in our girlhood bed,

legs dangling over the edge.

I awake in the night

to your tarnished lashes

blinking Morse code messages.

Other people don’t know

who they are.

We eat sandwiches

smaller than our palms

and take slow baby spoons

to the pudding.

Each day is another step back

to before we had history.