The imaging test declares her "Tumor"—
my embryologic twin.
But she is my sister, with a name
she once mouthed to me in dreams.

Option: surgical removal

of my own flesh,
but why?
She's been fighting
to be born.
A full head of hair now,
and her lipless mouth sprouts
the likeness of teeth.

I show my palm—where she blooms—
to our parents who
unravel before us, fall,
fall like tinkling beads.
Here is the one I never thought
I'd hold; here she is,
her entire form.

If I must sign a waiver
for the possibility of death,
I sign not one for the knife,
but for my sister's chance at life.

On my bed, I lie down
each numbered night,
face-to-face with Sister,
for there is much to teach.
Take my voice if she must
so she may speak.