*Sister

We floated in warmth and quiet together,
my sister and I,
outside sounds muffled but for the beat
of our mother’s heart,
her singing voice lulling us to sleep.

She grew larger than me over time,
her flailing limbs weaker and slower,
while I, though smaller,
and pinned to mother’s side,
was stronger, more sure in my movements.

We grew, we two, and dreamed infant dreams,
of the lives we would one day live,
but those dreams would fail,
a nightmare begun,
the day my sister died.

We remained together, still connected
by blood vessels large and small.
Her heart had stopped
its rhythm with mine,
my heart beat on alone.

*Side note to this story: my twin girls developed twin to twin transfusion syndrome, a condition affecting the blood vessels of identical twins, while in utero. My daughter, Martha, died of heart failure ten weeks prior to their birth, and I carried both her and her living sister, my daughter Sara, within me together to thirty-five weeks. My daughter, Sara (Anderson) is writing in the marathon with me now.