Register Wednesday | June 12 | 2024
Twins Graeme Zirk


New poetry by Souvankham Thammavongsa.

I remember the evening we saw
this movie. I was eleven. My parents

had just bought a van. They wanted to go
to the drive-in, so we waited for it 

to get dark outside. We brought along
pillows and a blanket, hot chocolate. I fell

asleep in the back seat. I may
have woken up a few times— 

I remember this scene of them dancing
in a bar. I remember my parents laughing

at how these two could be twins. One giant
and the other short and out of shape. That

these two could come from the same place
at the same time and manage all

those years apart. When I think about it,
my parents were like that too, even if

they wouldn’t have seen it like that then. I 
wish I hadn’t fallen asleep that day.

I wish I had stayed awake, remembered all
the times they laughed so hard like that together.

There were so many of them. We always
had an abacus around. Maybe if I had learned

how to use one, I could shift a few beads
and tell you how much a lifetime costs.