orphan, our darknest

in our darknest

he watched, she lead us gently out of our twin beds

we were both five,

her new child coming, a sister, was to come

soon

to the front room on our awaking, to

two small radaitors, heat rising as slowly as

a winter sun

her hands

tied us, each to the silver frame, joined, yet

separated, held

by his

belts

we cried, till we

stopped

Stop

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