Golden Anniversary
They must have been different
once,
fire and water, miles apart,
robbing and giving in desire,
that assault on one another’s otherness.
Embracing, they appropriated
and expropriated each other
for so long
that only air was left within their arms,
transparent as if after lightning.
One day the answer came
before the questions.
Another night they guessed
their eye’s expression
by the type of silence in the dark.
Gender fades, mysteries molder,
distinctions meet in all-resemblance
just as all colours coincide in white.
Which of them is doubled and
which missing?
Which one is smiling with two
smiles?
Whose voice forms a two-part
canon?
When both heads nod, which
one agrees?
Whose gesture lifts the
teaspoon to their lips?
Who’s flayed the other one
alive?
Which one lives and which has
died
entangled in the lines of whose palm?
They gazed into each other’s
eyes and slowly twins emerged.
Familiarity breeds the most
perfect of mothers -
it favors neither of the
little darlings,
it scarcely can recall which one is which.
On this festive day, their
golden anniversary,
A dove, seen identically,
perched on the windowsill.
Wisława Szymborska
(from Salt 1962)