Peas in a pod, Mother called us,
Ejima was the neighbours’ choice.
It was only good when Mother got grocery discounts,
on our account.
I hated the feeling of being a packaged deal;
a 2-in-1 persona – identical, undeniably chiral.
I did not mind the attention at first.
The preferential treatment was hardly worth an outburst.
But my twin, she’s one for the spotlight;
a sparkling dynamite
chipping in and finishing my sentences.
One to steal my shine and copy my cadences,
passing my work off as hers, gleaning all the credit,
She told Mother, Sisters should always share, shouldn’t they?
It was bearable, but I soon learned
to hide my treasures and guilty pleasures.
The boubou Aunt Ada gifted me,
the seashell I found,
the customised brooch,
the flower I picked,
my first love, who saw me as a person
beyond my twin’s shadow;
the one who taught me love
could be like dew on a meadow’s morning.
the one I hid so well into her arms.
