From Chicken Soup for the Sister's Soul

Joined at the Heart

With one manicured hand
my sister can reach back into the past
and pull out memories
I haven’t thought of in years.
Her brown eyes are mirrors,
reflecting me and my life in a way no one else can.

When we look at each other
we see all stages of ourselves simultaneously,
like buds unfolding into full bloom
speedup film.

Though she is unique,
recently one of her observations
on something entirely new to both of us
sounded exactly like our mother.
That alone would be reason enough
for me to treasure her company.

We go way back.
We remember Happy the dog
Eleanor the singing hen—
all sorts of crazy things.
Sisters, not twins
we are not joined at the hip
but at the heart.

Ruth Latta

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