Читать книгу The Poet X – WINNER OF THE CILIP CARNEGIE MEDAL 2019 - Элизабет Асеведо - Страница 35

More about Twin

Although Twin is older by almost an hour—

of course the birth got complicated when it was my turn—

he doesn’t act older. He is years softer than I will ever be.

When we were little, I would come home

with bleeding knuckles and Mami would gasp

and shake me: “¡Muchacha, siempre peleando!

Why can’t you be a lady? Or like your brother?

He never fights. This is not God’s way.”

And Twin’s eyes would meet mine

across the room. I never told her

he didn’t fight because my hands

became fists for him. My hands learned

how to bleed when other kids

tried to make him into a wound.

My brother was birthed a soft whistle:

quiet, barely stirring the air, a gentle sound.

But I was born all the hurricane he needed

to lift—and drop—those that hurt him to the ground.