Day 1,002

From the first cells dividing
in their mother’s womb,
they were never separate.
Nine months. Then nine years.
When Moaz looked at Moataz
he saw himself. Same eyes,
nose, mouth. Same hair. Same
voice. When Moataz
looked at Moaz, he saw
his feelings reflected
by his twin: same sadness,
happiness. Same hunger.
Same fear. They had
the same birth. Walked
for the first time
on the same day.
Spoke words to each other
that no one besides themselves,
for a while, could understand.
Moaz and Moataz. Moataz
and Moaz. They played
the same games. Ran
at the same speed. Shouted cheers
for their favorite team
at the same volume. And now
the airstrike has given them
the same death. They’re carried
to their grave (same
grave) in shrouds
that look the same. Same
length. Same weight. Same silence.