When we die, my sister and I
Will have seven heavens between us
Three for her, and three for me
And one for us to drink tea
We only chose to become sisters
when we were eleven.
We knew the same blood pulsed through each other's hearts
after our first schoolday.
Parents aside, we were sisters.
Members of the Gemini,
with a different family on each side
We'd each have a separate paradise for our families
I'd talk with my father, be soothed by mother
Sit next to my other siblings as a flock of relatives
Peck at me like they are pigeons
And I'm tossing out breadcrumbs
My sister would laugh with her family
And fight with her siblings to lick the ice cream of the carton lid
This heaven I don't really know
It's a place only she can go
The second heaven is filled with stars
Authors, singers, historical figures
Hers is filled with great men like John Marshall and Henry Clay
Whom she merrily debates all day
Bowie sometimes comes along
And indulges her with a song
My second is even more impossible
Hermione Granger and Anna Karenina stop by
I'm young enough to fly with Peter Pan
And old enough to walk with the Sylvan Elves
My sister and I visit each other's second paradises
as often as we can and go merrily insane
As I turn books inside out and shake it until
The characters spring out ready to play.
I do not know her third heaven
nor do I know what lies in mine
We've left this one empty
When the time comes, we'll decorate it as we please
This is an individual heaven
an island in the sky.
It is our own room, our quiet place
The seventh heaven is a stony cottage
with a fire always burning.
A comfy patched couch, small towers of books.
Every day, we lounge on that couch and talk,
except when we read,
or watch a movie we've always wanted to see.
We share a blanket and sip tea.