It seems impossible now to imagine how the years have separated us.
There was a time when we were like one being.
Twins, dressed alike, hair in the same pigtails, mine light,
yours dark, but colors nonetheless off the same brush.
We grew together. We loved. We fought.
Games played. Dreams dreamed.
Terrors survived.
I knew you as well as if we’d shared a womb.
The birthmark on your ankle
the color and shape exactly as a grain of long brown rice.
The indentation in your thigh where you were bitten
by a brown recluse. The scar on your lip.
I see you now and I know down to an ounce
your girlhood’s heft, how it weighs on you.
How it shapes your every motion.
How it dictates every quirk and tic and triumph and failure
of you, moment to moment.
But I have no claim to it anymore. All I have now is this knowledge,
and the memories that live in my skin,
they come reflexively. And every year your birthday passes
and I
look up,
noting the day as I would my own. I wonder what you recall
of me and my body. I wonder if men could ever understand
what closeness like this means, if any of them imagine
that in women like us, there was always, first, a girl.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Beautifully and sparely written
I like the way you wrote on an emotional topic without allowing the poem to become overly sentimental. Rather, it was very straight-forward, i.e. recounting this relationship the way you remember it (whether fictionalized or real) from your POV. You did a good job of noting small details - the kinds of things that might be easily overlooked - and these add a sense of realism to the poem. The poem ends nicely with some questions and your own observation that both of you were, first, girls.
Lovely work. Keep writing!
language: 5, rhythm: 4, subject: 5, tone: 4, form: 4.
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hey lauren
i was attracted to reading this by your exchange with Nienna or it made me notice it. this was poingnent and sensitive on many levels, not only the loss of a friend, but the loss of childhood and innocence and in a sense a part of yourself. and i agree as a man i can't relate to that level of closeness. but it does seem childhood relatshonships are more innocent and better and you could fight and make up in five minutes. i find as an adult friendships are both complex and superficial, no one has anytime and both people are conscience of no taking up the persons time and also have to get back to whatever they were doing. than the whole things so fragile a precieved slight or heated debate could end it right there. anyway your poem opened up a lot channels.
dave -
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Thanks, Dave. Yeah-- even if as a guy you didn't get to experience this type of closeness, you still "get" it. Loss of childhood, innocence, and self-- you nailed it. And I agree, friendships forged in adulthood will never be as intense. It's like that movie, The Breakfast Club, (how big a sap am I for still liking that film?) one of the characters says, "I think when you grow up, your heart dies." I find that line goes thru my head quite often.
Lauren
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Hey, Lauren.
I'm at this nice point in my adolescence where this is supremely relevant in more ways than one. It seems that I'm right on the brink of being my own woman entirely, but there are times, particularly when I look at my friend Hannah when it's startling to realize that what I value and remember and cling to most is all those years when she and I would snuggle up on her couch (we were still small enough to be able to sleep, my head to her toes, her toes to my head on just the wicker furniture) with some paper and a pen and a list of boys' names to imagine what it seems we've now come to. I know all the scars on her knees, and the way she used to wear her brother's clothes, and she knows the freckles on my back and the way my hair used to be long and straight, and we remember how we used to play football at school and could tackle more people than the bigger boys. There's no one else who does.
She's growing up faster than I am, I think, or maybe she's just more reckless. She was kissed first, she had a boyfriend first, she ascended that most intimate of all ladders first, and I'm left just sort of watching, having done some but not all, and jealous of those boys who think they know her but don't. I think saddest of all is that she seems to have forgotten that I know her best, could map her body and 3/4 of her mind. I miss my best friend.
As always I'm astounded by how your pieces affect me, how profoundly they mirror my own deepest feelings, the ones I'm most hesitant to say. Your last line "in women like us, there was always, first, a girl" comes straight from that place within me that wants to stand up and tell boys that I'm still 14, just a little girl. It's important for me to remember that girl, but without someone to help it feels like I'm foundering a little bit. It's so difficult to remain moving while retaining that.
Excellent job, as always. Much love,
Nenni. -
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Hey there, little sis. I suppose it would take a female bonding moment of this magnitude to drag me out of self-imposed exile. I've been posting lately, though not adding rewards because, like you, I've found myself in a fallow period, in terms of comments. I've been reading some poetry, but not responding. I just can't think of anything to say, never mind anything useful. And I've just been, more than anything, in the parlance of the west, plum tuckered out.
I HAD hoped you would read this one-- I had the feeling that you would relate very well. I read an article some time ago that talks about how the most painful and traumatic break-up of a young woman's life is often not with a boy, but with a cherished childhood friend. Sarah is my cousin as well as the best friend of my youth, but we drifted, as so many do, in high school, and now, as adults, we don't know each other. Yet, that lingering, intimate knowledge of her still resides somewhere inside me. For example, I knew, just by looking at her, that she was pregnant both times she's been pregnant-- I knew because there was this slight change to her walk, as well as in the shape of her belly. A glance was all it took for me. You describe perfectly in your comment the sort of knowledge and intimacy that I was hoping to capture-- being small enough to snuggle together on a couch is perfect. I bet you shared a bed countless times with Hannah too at innumerable sleepovers, shared clothes, the thousand shared moments like the triumph of being able to tackle big kids, etc. "Could map her body and 3/4 of her mind. . ." Perfect. That should be in a poem.
I am sad to hear that the two of you have drifted already, at 14! (Holy crow, girl, I knew you were a teenager, but I didn't realize you were such a YOUNG teenager!) It seems invariable, and it always seems to happen the way you describe-- one girl grows up faster, while the other one clings to what she was-- a little girl. It's that simple. The jealousy you feel-- definitely. I didn't dwell on that in this poem, but I hinted at it with the final lines.
I have ceased to be astounded by our similarities, though I never stop welcoming them. I do continue to be astounded by your maturity and your talent at such a young age. Cling to your girlhood as long as you can, and don't relinquish it until you are absolutely ready. You're already a fine poet. You're going to be dynamite as a woman. Meeting you (however virtually) has been one of my greatest pleasures as a writer.
Love & Hugs,
Lauren
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