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.