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Little known fact: I was a twin. My mother miscarried, but I was still there. I’ve always taken this lightly — hey, I’m here, so what’s the big deal? Funny how the body remembers things. Funny how physical experiences trigger body memories. I have always thought that the “me” I have — so strong, so individual, so full — was always “one”. I am just starting to understand this first loss. The loss, however primitive, explains so much of who I am — how I react, how I love, how I touch, how one hand holding mine can touch the core of my being, and mean so very much to me.

Miscarried

Wrapped around each other
Holding hands
Floating together with enough time
And life in us that we had
Fingers
And toes
Moving together
Never more than inches apart
Never fighting for space
Searching for fingers
And toes
Not yet aware of
You
Me
Her
We were something and touching
Always touching
Holding hands
Fitting together perfectly until
You were gone
There was only me
Only me I’ve ever known when thoughts
Were formed only me
So strong
Never giving a second thought to anyone
Else sharing
Any part of my pre-existence
You were gone
Every loss I feel so magnified
By what I never realized until
One day when I was wrapped
Hand in hand around another
Another
Positioned as we were inside her
Only then did I rest
Only then did I cease to exist again
Only then did I remember where I was
Next to you
Inside her
Clear to me now
Why I need to hold another hand
Why I need to hold another close
Why every loss I feel so very deeply
Why I need to save my other twin

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