Surrogate Twin

by Ines P. Rivera-Prosdocimi

After my twin, my next love was a kindergarten boy.
Lawrence with his white hair and white grin
as he stood in the corner peeking at me
as I peed to show him we were blood.
Our hands were the same size, though different
colors, and we fought like we liked running
or story books, or sticking our tongues out
at the girls who  found it fun to collect clovers.
We told each other those things we keep—
if our twin sisters died, we’d die too,
and take all the maps in the map room to find
our souls. He may not remember
the way he traced my hand forever,
or how I said God gave the teacher’s aide cancer.
I wish I could say, last I heard, my buddy Lawrence…
but truth is, the day before he moved,
he held a clip knife to my neck, then leaned in,
put his warm forehead against me.
We were six or seven. A dusky afternoon.
A long silence before we both took a breath.

Used by permission of the author.