When there are two
daughters, one is soft
one is swift
one can stretch
her face to contain
honey or humor
saline, a bone graft
disdain.
One cannot bend
but knows her place
the curtains
the floorboard’s tongue-
in-groove, the hearthstone.
When there are two
daughters there are two
moons, both sickle-celled
and fawn-eyed.
One that sings
one that scolds.
Both hold their breath
under bridges.
Sometimes there are two
rivers cutting landscape
flooding farms
sometimes fire strides forth
on two fronts
sometimes two stars
orbit each other, but these
reflect each other’s light
and these are not
two daughters.
