Twin by Rosie Jonker

When we were young we lived near an air base.

He taught me how to tell the planes apart
Just by the sound they made: I recognized
A-10’s, B-52’s (which always sound
As though they’re crashing—eeee!) when they flew by.
When we were young we fought. I’m older, so
I guess that I should really be the one
Who’s level-headed, self-controlled, mature.
But I am not. He is. This made me mad,
And, vicious, I would throw things at him—toys,
Or Legos, or whatever was nearby.
When we were young I didn’t realize
That he is just an antimatter me,
A living, breathing Jekyll to my Hyde,
Who holds grudges, fears germs, and likes mustard.
There was a three percent chance of us. We
Were split right down the middle. We are rare.
I finish all his sentences because
The things that I would never do or say
He says and does. I think that since we spent
The first nine months of our lives in one room
Together, we have to be friends. We are--
Like light and dark are friends, or hot and cold.

Rosie Jonker is a sophomore in the House of Truth. Believe it or not, she has a twin brother. She hates olives. And her favorite shade of lipstick is Maybelline #425.