I only have two.
They grow and shrink, lumps
and bones, distorted
and perfectly flawed.
They arc in lovely
lines, dangling toe-buds
like pearl drops & chains.
They fracture/fragile.
They are beautugly.
I love them. They keep
walking, and walking,
even when they ache.
They each have their own
name, but they won’t talk
about it. One is drawn
with blue waterways,
gaps patched over with
lime and whitewash. Clean,
exquisitely fresh.
The other flushes
pink and gold and orange
like a swollen dawn,
gaudy with heat. It’s
hard to guess they’re twins,
mirroring right and left.
One is labeled: “If
someone forces you
to go one mile, go
with them for two miles.”
The other’s labeled:
“For they will be shown
mercy.” Come along,
they whisper, with us.
Rosefire Rising 