I always wondered why it didn’t bother her,

My twin, when men called her “young lady,”

The way it bothers me,

Or the wrinkles on our chins,

Or the grays that are starting to grace our noggins.

Without me asking

She answered one day,

“You probably don’t remember, 

But I was born with gray hair.”

She stared somewhere 

Very far away.

“Yours was black.

Mine was white as snow.

Yours started to grow in,

A pale golden tow,

And mine did, too.

But I’ve always been old,”

My twin told me.

“You’ve always been young. 

I’ve understood the ways of age,

And you, the ways of youth,

But now I’m starting to forget what I knew,

And you, you’re starting to understand. 

Take my hand again,

And let’s be best friends,

While the fates spin what’s left

Of our twisted tale.

Well be identical by the time it ends,

Just as we were,

Indistinguishable 

In the womb.”

-jenn