Eldest Daughter: Poems

How Two Became One Again: Sestinas’ Work Done

43 How Two Became One Again Sestina’s Work Done This is how she came to know it, the turning of the lines and the spell of the numbers. The anagram in the name never occurred to her at all. Formal rules—repeating six words sex/woman/sin/enough/heart/voice seven times each—snatched the narrative out of her hands and wheeled her away. The scars on her hands thrum, It’s my fault: I forced the door marked NO, turned the iron key long as a carving knife. How many times is a child told, Look at this? Who keeps numbers on such charming commands? How often do those words imply a twin phrase, Not at that? It never occurred to her to disobey, and soon half a universe never occurred, slipped out the door one event after another, holding hands with the homeless twin, a dirty child who was never taught words. From then on, there were two. One who turned smiling to Mama, source of alphabet, songs, numbers, nursery books in blue/yellow/gold, source of good times approved for memory. Another who waited for the bad times, grew sullen, hoarded the events which never occurred, invented a language of stutters and widened eyes, a number system based on lost teeth, a broken chair, nutshells. Your father’s hands disappear behind his back, and when it’s your turn to choose, you point: One fist reappears, he speaks no words. The fingers open: It’s empty. If this game had words, what would they be? How many times does the smiling child choose, before her luck turns? What if the mother is right, and none of it ever occurred? What if the day she burned the smiling child’s hands, she put out the eyes of the twin who watched? The numbers 44 count backwards, sleep is on the way. Who remembers the number she got to, before she started back down? Six/I want/five—her words grow faint—four/three/I didn’t want/two. Hands that tried to shove the mask away sag open in sleep. Time suspends. Scalpel does its work—clitoris, memory. It never occurred, the mother is right again, she’s waiting the daughter’s return. But, Look at this! The surgery turned out wrong. The numbers reverse again, No/Yes. Whatever never occurred babbles into words. The twins are reattached. This time: one child, two eyes, two hands. ...