Its 4 in the morning and me and my sister are riding in the winter wind.
She's driving and I'm hugging her,
Our jackets are fighting bravely against the biting air,
But I know I'm safe,
But I'm overwhelmed,
How much do I share with this person,
That is almost my own,
Beyond the same genetic structure,
She smells like my mother,
Her hands holding strong are my dad telling me to come home,
Her voice over the phone is my grandmother asking if I'm well,
Beyond our blood and name,
When she raises her angry eyes in a stubborn rage, I see a 16 year old mirror,
Her laugh is my childhood being pressed together in a staccato burst of seconds,
Her pronunciation of the word "model" is my attempt at sounding funny,
The way she makes her coffee, it often tastes like my own
Our ribs are intersecting points of shared growth,
We are not siblings anymore,
We are splits of a soul that at once chose both sides of a crossroad,
But metaphors can't mask the fact that no matter how much we reflect each other,
She must play by different rules,
She must because of her breasts,
Because of the blood that gushes out of her every month,
Because of the fact that life has chosen her to create it anew,
Because she is a she,
Thus she will always be,
Subject to terms and conditions that my contract doesn't have,
My contract is a VIP pass,
Hers is often a back row ticket,
The "script" says,
My role is to laugh at the table,
While she rehearses her monologue in the kitchen,
She'll always look back,
Her eyes no longer long lashed chocolate,
But radars sensing potential threats,
She'll always think before wearing anything that allows her navel to see light,
Her heart will always run that one bit faster at the sound of a second set of feet....
And often her voice will be
a cello in a lilting background,
Beautiful but often unheard....
She will, I guess, always play by different rules,
But then I realise,
So will I.
So must I.
I'll never be as deep as her,
She'll always be an abyss of light,
And I no more than some sea...
My tears will never be as welcome as hers,
My care never as celebrated,
Those who underestimate me will never rue their birth so much,
The siege of my honour will never prompt men to sail seas to war,
I will never be able to create a beating heart,
My blood wont ever feed a living mouth.
And the poems,
Oh God the poems!
Never will the poems conjure me so much,
Words wont often fail at describing me,
I too am playing by different rules,
Maybe this divide is a double edged blade,
A merging track,
And we are both trains sprinting full pace,
Maybe I'm as hurt as her,
Maybe she is as free as me.
And maybe this doesn't matter,
Because my father loves my mother,
And I laugh like her you see,
And as the drive ends I realise,
That my sister laughs like me.
When she got her first period I promised her,
That we might play by different rules,
But we will always play together.
The same team.
Her and Me.