Showing This Poem To My Imaginary Twin

This time, you disapprove of it:

“Something important is missing here.

Our childhood was boring—interchangeable friendships,

repetitive summers, the same sad thoughts

we never had the words for. What do you mean

‘it was our own private kingdom’?”

You revise your complaints, but everyone longs

for a different home—visitable memories,

long dreams every night, enduring granite

over cold soil. But it’s alright.

You said it yourself: “Get it together, kid.

Give up on the idea of death.

One day the worms will have eaten

every thought you ever had, but today

you’re writing this poem with me.

Which one is better? Which one is stranger?

Oh, stop imitating your parents. No-one regrets

deciding to be born.”

Clayton Arble is a poet from Holyoke, Massachusetts.