From some writing prompts i wrote

My sister’s hand was pale, her forearms moist and the writing from
her body invisible. What’s it like for a twin to be witness to a
birth, the birth at the end of time here in dirt city, earth school,
not a gallery, but a workshop?

She had ceased breathing in and breathing out, as I sat at my
computer in her kitchen, exhausted from a month’s witnessing her
agitation, lucid thoughts, holding her in my arms, doing student
nurse type of things like learning to hammer out crushed ice, with
the ice in any kind of clean towel we could grab from the kitchen
and hurry back to her. Her body in the end was luminous, but she
had stopped breathing in and out, and a body no matter how
beautiful, simply does not tell you reliable truth about the soul
who had just left.

I had a few months before, been witness to the doors of Weimar, with
pictures of my dear young friends, pictures of doors of Bach’s
hometown, cobblestone streets, and a restaurant with beefy beef and
potatoes which split apart from a quivery touch of a fork or spoon,
ready to abandon all to the love of someone’s, in particular my,
mouth.

I had seen the doors and the trim of Haifa dwellings, a blue only I
could call Acca blue and think of march toward oneness in this
trembling age. But then I got to see the doors of Caldwell, Idaho,
where I had written a few odes to the Caldwell cows. These doors
were open, spilling out casseroles with a bit of creamed this or
creamed that over hunks of veggies and chicken. Their owners kept
up a steady supply of feeding our little group of four, assistants,
trainees to the hospice team.

We had an unbroken line as twins, that line tested so much over the
years. Fraternal is different, opposite the myth or the unreliable
truth that twins think the same thoughts, feel the same feelings,
utter the same cries.

But, the fact is the line wasn’t broken and while she stayed in
Caldwell, and I twitted about the world a wider piece, the line did
its job, staying firm or loose or taught but still a line. The line
has dissolved into space unknown, a silver blue thing of mystical
origins. And now I a traveler in the fractal worlds of God think of
her in random moments of my day in wonder of the doors that lie
ahead of her.

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