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Lori Schappell, a Conjoined Twin, Addresses the Kmart Cashier Who Eyes Her with Too Much Sympathy

ISSUE:  Spring 2004

You don’t know the forest
of two minds bound by weeds
grown from one to the other,
the synapses like bees
our honeyed brain.
When my sister sings,
the bones of my skull are her resonance.

Your mind is a yeast packet,
unbroken, unrisen. Today
how often will you think: Price Check
and each time the thought will stall
with lonesomeness.

Yet you think my sister is a bulky hat
stitched to my head.

You, untethered, drift through life.
And we pity

        you and the other self
you hide in your throat.


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