In ruddy apartment light, We try to reckon differences.
Same elbow dimples. Same crookd thumb. Same babytooth gaps that ache pinkly in the same pink gums. Same fawn hair. Same burned-barium eyes. Same nose, upsloped. Same unfreckled thighs. Same navel—outie, knot punched through same taut skin. Same infectious influenza that incubates within.
But then We find the cockle shell, the rippled bivalve, the blister pearl. We tally our difference to be 1: onehalf of We (i, me), of course, a girl.
