Equivocation—poetry
in strong,
skilled hands, mud
in most. Who am I 

to seek twins
standing up to one another
in this historic park?

Who do you think 

you are to judge
my choice of wrapping
through another stretch
of drizzle? Who 

do you think I am
when you gaze this way
that way? Who 

do I think you are
when I forget 

what I might say
to you under its grip?
I’m thinking 

fraternal ones
and three grown
sisters, one
weirder than the next.