Twins

They called us twins:
we had the same kind of haircut,
the same long, thin torso,
the toothy grins.
To us it didn't matter
that I was much younger,
she my aunt,
I half-this-half-that,
she half-here-half-there.

It lasted maybe
a couple years.

Then my figure rounded
while hers thinned,
my hair grew longer
while hers fell out,
I developed breasts
whereas she had one -
the other the culprit
of her sleepless nights
and chemoed cells.

No one called us twins
anymore,
it seemed inaccurate,
wrong,
when I was just
beginning living
she was just
beginning leaving.

I miss who she was
and I know she missed
who she used to be
and now that I am older
I know why she missed
the girl who would ride,
carefree, on the back
of her boyfriend's motorcycle
so long ago
in San Francisco.

At 24 I have had
more than she ever had
and feel guilty, a little,
that I could not take
my twin with me
through the sensations,
experiences,
youth
and all that makes this
worth living for.

They called us twins
and I wish it had lasted longer -
I wish it would last still.