No Miracle Comes in Twos

“Identical Twins!” the doctor cried at the inky black-white sonograph. We all sighed through deep belly-waters. I hope she remembers, even after the foot-long scar above her hips, exchanged bite-marks on the extremities of her babies, the endless combat of teenagers, the double-tuitions, and a tummy-tuck 20 years later, was there was a moment that she called it a miracle? Did she think all the pressure would make us gems? It’s 35 years later. No phone calls, only voicemails saved. We talk about how we hope she imagines we are versions of her, made into perfect form from her sacrifice.