twins by Linda Lee Baird
grounded. a tree.
i am a big tree.
bigger than mother
nature herself.
small. we were labored
after growing
from microbes.
remember that night
you touched the blade.
smaller than how
you felt.
i am not a gemini
but an identical
twin. i could be yours.
no one talked to us
when we were seven.
we had strange
crooked teeth.
you gather power
from lifting
a chainsaw.
you work best
alone.
i defend america.
i am the army, the navy
the marine corps.
when i go to sleep, i always
pray first.
we covered our impish ears,
hummed the national anthem
when kids used to tease us.
you sought culture,
clapped politely
at every play.
i played jacks.
played with toys
in cracker jack boxes.
we lost big in blackjack
you lost. big.
i stay up late.
wait for comets.
notice the constellations.
the many colors.
we collected fireflies.
poked holes to give them air.
they never lit the room
the way we expected.
you freed your pet parakeet.
thought it happy
in the forest.
somenights i am
overjoyed, life
stings me with its goodness.
somenights i sit
stung.
we learned in history
there are no heroes.
our presidents killed people.
george washington
was a liar.
you worked hard. you cut trees
for a living. when people moved
to the boughs and chanted life
you quit your job. your wife was angry.
somenights i am angry.
i nurse my own wounds.
history is permanent.
we never forget
what others do.
you never forgot.
you ran and ran
and remembered.
somenights i realize
we also must be
you.
Linda Lee Baird is a writer and educator living in Brooklyn. She currently works for an after-school program where she teaches young people how to get involved in public policy and advocacy work. Before moving to New York, Linda lived in Boston and taught writing to elementary school students while pursuing her M.Ed. from Lesley University. She was the inaugural recipient of the Lucy Greely Prize for Poetry from Sarah Lawrence College, where she completed her B.A. in 2003. Linda is a native of Columbus, Ohio.
