ERIN BISHOP
Commended - 2024 Tower Poetry Competition, 'Mirror'
Ode To The Older Sister
Mirrored, our two bodies turn towards each other:
A hotel twin isn’t big enough for us anymore, and
the summer night blazes outside, flower-heady.
Her heartbeat pulses out over the mattress.
I swallow the moment and commit it to memory.
Swaddled by night, I tell her this:
I’d dreamt we swapped bodies. I was taller than you.
You were in that winter coat you’ve now outgrown,
I’m still years out of growing into it, but
the thought hit me hard, fast, like searing lightning:
I was looking down to you.
I thought it was envy, at first,
as it heaved my fevered bones from rest, lit up all-over.
I felt the dizzied head-rush like holding my breath. But
maybe it was love I felt, seeing myself in your image.
I curl closer to her. My blood sings. Familiar.
The body, it recognises extensions of self. Phantom limbs.
I’ve grown as big as her shadow and not an inch bigger.
Perfectly symmetrical. Do to me, as I do to you:
The love. The faith. The cruelty.
Sometimes it feels like we’re the same person, she says.
The love. The faith. The cruelty.
Perfectly symmetrical. Do to me as I do to you.
I’ve grown as big as her shadow and not an inch bigger.
The body, it recognises extensions of self. Phantom limbs.
I curl closer to her. My blood sings. Familiar.
Maybe it was love I felt, seeing myself in your image.
I felt the dizzied head-rush like holding my breath. But
as it heaved my fevered bones from rest, lit up all-over,
I thought it was envy at first.
I was looking down to you -
the thought hit me hard, fast, like searing lightning.
I’m still years out of growing into it, but
you were in that winter coat you’ve now outgrown.
I’d dreamt we swapped bodies. I was taller than you.
Swaddled by night, I tell her this.
I swallow the moment and commit it to memory.
Her heartbeat pulses out over the mattress.
The summer night blazes outside, flower-heady.
A hotel twin isn’t big enough for us anymore, and
mirrored, our two bodies turn towards each other.