Half symmetry

I am her decadent counterpart

She is the wiry, established one

No give in her hips

Staving off the inevitable cold bed

With emotion on stages

Instead of fights by the morning refrigerator

Building each step calculatingly

Trying to fill the impending voids

And I 

That young, sweet flesh

Unafraid of butter and sage and sweat

Thighs that spread when I sit

On kitchen countertops

And sing Patsy Cline under my breath

Wooden spoon in hand

Sweet berries staining my lips

Yet in the non-light of the new moon

We mirror each other

Carrying burdens no one else will

That steel in the feminine spine

Bearing the weight our mothers bequeathed 

Loving damaged men

Fear making our breaths shake

In the quiet sometimes

Her more than me

But I’m sure I’ve got time to learn

To cling to cold pillows

Or find witchcraft in my fingers

So I mourn her trembling heart

While I find the smoke in my hair

And bless this fullness of youth

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