We remember her sister.
Twin daughter born that day
eighteen years ago,
never meant to live.
She was a broken porcelain doll
missing parts.
One child born bearing the promise of
a future to be fulfilled day by day.
The other child made only one fatal promise.
Kept it.
Two weeks . . .
it took two weeks.
What if she had been less faithful,
gathered herself up whole against the will of God
and forced her way into this world,
ready to take her sister’s side?
Would she wear her hair that way?
A blazing halo rippling over the shoulders?
Would the smiles match?
Would they speak in a secret language
only to each other?
What would they look like side by side?
I held them once, one in each arm.
A burden I ached to bear longer.
When the one destined to pass was gone,
the remaining girl had a small red mark on her forehead.
Angel’s kiss, they said.
We know the name of the angel -
we know she will be watching on graduation day.