Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Orphans

We are like two prize fighters
battling in the center ring,
then withdrawing to our respective corners.
Each one licking our wounds
until the next round.
The guilt of your mother
on my arm.
The blood of my sister on your shoulder.
The teeth of your brother left on my face.
The voice of my mother in your ear.
They are all here
battling
with us,
urging us on,
keeping us fighting.
If only we had kept them separate
from each other.
If only we had been orphans.