we love you both the same                                                                                    

she said don’t go in there
don’t go in there
there is darkness and two german sheppards that will bite your head off

or maybe that was my sister’s babysitter
our stories always get entwined
because they are so different
because Barbara did this
because Barbara prefers this
because Barbara is a girl
and you are not

so either Barbara or I got caught chewing on the babysitter’s sandals at age one
while the lady took a nap in the master bedroom
either Barbara or I got smacked in the head because
either Barbara or I wouldn’t fall asleep and wanted mommie

either Barbara or I had blue eyes when young and wore mother’s
bracelets and things between nine and five
because father looks at things like he can change them

either Barbara or I called the babysitter fat because she wasn’t mommie
because she wasn’t white
because she actually cried when sworn at
either Barbara or I threw combs out the window
or vegetable soup because gravity seemed man-made
or at least man something

either Barbara or I feigned unintelligence and laughter
normality and bliss
because underneath either Barbara or I was too ugly for familial display

and then Barbara got a bedroom key, boys’ numbers and a straightening iron
glittered white out, and permission to feel wanted
as I entertained myself alone in a room of moist nothingness
pretending coat hangers were camera lenses that looked at me and said hi
along with the german sheppards
along with the non-witnessing nature of keyholes and bourgeois patina
and a hard-to-swallow inability to be Barbara