Tears and Blisters,
Connected in body and spirit;
As only twin sisters can know.
Their attachments grow;
From first beat and breath,
Then blanket-warm breasts,
Searching with eyes,
Reaching with smiles.
A double stroller sets their stage:
Two of these and those for every age.
One sitting, one pushing
The swing on the tree;
One feeling, one sensing
What either one sees.
One pitching, one catching,
Which one doesn't matter;
No visible signals to out the batter.
Like sparring partners in the ring,
Tin cans or mittens joined by string,
Or watching backs like tandeming.
Enigmatic in fact or fiction,
Like Rosetta clues to hieroglyphics;
The embodiment of the Venn diagram.
The mirror image can be deceptive,
Right seems left when reflected;
Unique and semi-mystical,
As snowflakes or ice crystals;
Yet tight as rings round trees.
Our tears and blisters,
Though twin sisters,
Will divulge individuality.
(And I'll be round to play some doubles,
You on one side // and me with your mother.
Euchre, crib, tennis, golf;
Or whatever you choose.
The gloves are off.)
"Tears and blisters" is a cockney phrase for "sisters."
Identical twins on the way.