tamaramiles
The Second Twin
The Second Twin
(for Ezekiel and Caleb, whom I did not know)
At the summer solstice, the second twin died,
a drowning that took a day longer than the death
of the first.
A key for gate access does not deny
the crawling under when one is three years old,
or keep apart the loving hands that lead on together
into a kind of terrible thirst.
The sun saw this, the bright and brutal sun
that also warmed their boisterous bodies at last
daylight, before the great white gleam assumed
its place in their vision.
If it is not so, God help us, and let us do our worst.
Because the summer solstice meets the full moon
this year, we will give it preeminence into night,
the longest day will stay an hour longer, and children
will play under watchful eyes in backyards fraught
with hope and injury.
What we would give for just another broken
window or arm, an amusing curse word to shame
or spite a parent.
Oh moon, we wait for your great white gleam
more near than your twin’s,
and more accessible
to the ones who do not fly
and never will, to see your craters or to plant a new flag.
Oh, guilty sun, we forgive you for our cravings,
and if we do not worship you, our wish to spend one hour
more in the fierce eye of your loving is our testimonial
that you are necessary for flowers,
for small flowers that bloom so quickly and hold
their breaths for water, to be first.