There’s a me out there filthy rich and sobbing.
Her hair is bushy, curly like mine,
but hers houses pears and jasper pendants.
My cold hands contrast her pink, warm palms.
Her howls are ingredients, important. But here
I can stare at the ancient lights above my head–
we move, not them. Round and round.
I bet if I laugh she’ll feel it, the other version.
And I bet she’ll claw at her chest,
demand infectious thoughts to stop growing
Does she understand parallels? Am I the reason
her bones shiver; why her closet stays closed
in her binding world? Am I a dark secret,
the freedom eroding around her feet?
I don’t know. Maybe we are planets
recognizing fate in each other, and she just
couldn’t deal with what happens to me.