We’ve lived in two different houses
both of which
we were alone
and no one would even know
was with us in there
until they heard our mama’s angry screams
or smelled our clothes stained with cigarette ashes.
We were two different roses on the same bush,
surrounded by thorns.
And as you were the sun
I was the moon,
chasing each other across that
single silver star
which lay on the movie theater floor.
The dark ground our universe
the popping popcorn
like the applauding of other planets.
The tearing of tickets
like the lighting of a match
a distant sun bursting.
We’ve inched up the same door frame
and fallen asleep in the same crib.
We’ve stepped barefoot together
against cold, slippery stones
against gravel streets that steam.
We’ve ruined our performance
two impish toddlers on a stage
tumbling without grace.
Yes, I steal the clothes
and you hog the bathroom
But we’ve pinched cotton candy off the same cone
and anyone can see we care.
Because we still laugh
when we come across that silver star
Because you’re my sun
and I’m your moon
we’ll revolve around each other
Because you’re the corner of my lip,
tugging upwards to the blush of my cheek
tugging downwards to the teardrop hanging off my chin
Because you’re the well in my eyes,
filling with the soft rain of mist
or the damaging ice cubes of hail
Because you’re my fingertips,
guiding me forwards to comforting warmth
guiding me backwards from searing fire.
Because you’re my sister.
The only rose on that thorn-filled bush
And blooming beside me.