Eve Rounds

Twins

It isn’t easy

being a twin.

 

Others considered us

as one two-part person, 

while our parents saw, 

in our conspiring,

four or more.

 

Born of one egg,

we yearned to be neither

a one nor a four so we fought

them and each other

to each be ourselves.

 

Even many years later as we began

the trip south to be with our father

we argued about which route to take, 

where and when to break,

resigned to bicker all the way.

 

Pop, shriveled to half his former self

yet with unaltered mind,

alert, interested, uncomplaining.

We twins forgot our petty dueling

to measure lifelong memories in one last week with him.

 

At week’s end, he painfully pulled himself up

to wave a final goodbye from the door.

In the car, my brother, annoyed somehow,

started it up again.

 

I looked at my father

as if to say, “here we go again.”

Stooped, bright eyed

his knowing smile replied,

“it isn’t easy

being a twin.”

 

tony rounds   Oct. 2009

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i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards

love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we

Twins

It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.