Tears And Blisters Poem by Francie Lynch

Tears and Blisters,
Co-conspirators,
Connected in body and spirit,
As only twin sisters can know.
Their attachments grow,
From first beat and breath,
Snug on blanket-warm breasts,
Searching with eyes,
Reaching with smiles.

A double stroller sets the stage:
Two of these and those for every age.
One sitting, one pushing
The swing on the tree.
One pitching, one catching,
Which one doesn't matter;
No visible signals to out the batter.
One feeling, one sensing
What either one sees.
Like sparing partners paired in the ring,
Two cans or mittens joined by string,
Or watching backs like tandem biking.

An unknown language, fact or fiction,
Like the Rosetta to hieroglyphics;
Communicating cryptograms,
From the centre of a Ven diagram.

The mirror image can be deceptive,
Right seems left when reflected;
Unique and semi-mystical,
As snowflakes or ice crystals;
Yet tight as rings round trees.
Our tears and blisters,
Though twin sisters,
Will divulge individuality.

And I'll be round to play some doubles,
You on one side,
And me and your mother.
Euchre, crib, tennis, golf,
Or whatever you choose,
The gloves are off.