All night Tippi and I lie with our arms
wrapped around each other
like rope.
I bury my face in her neck
and she wakes every now and then
to kiss the top of my head

Tippi can't stand clowns.
Dragon is terrified of cockroaches
and Mom of mice.
Dad pretends to be fearless,
though I've seen him flinch when the mail arrives

The building is white,
ivy eating its way up the broken walls,
windows small
and scratched.

The walls of the room are white and clean -
all sign's of yesterdays sorrows scrubbed
away with bleach.

She is not here.
Not beside me in bed
nor in the room
at all.

It has happened

This is my story.
It is mine alone because I am the one who needs
to tell it.
I am the one who is still here,
no longer stage right but

Here
We Are.

And we are living.

Isn't that amazing?

How we manage 
to be
at all.
     
 

Slurping up the last of my frozen yogurt,
I overhear someone say,
'Being a Simese twin has got to be
The Worst
Thing 
Ever.'

I am on the bathroom floor
screeching,
Tippi shaking me back into the world.