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Fall 2013


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That morning, I dreamt of my father and his twin
(he never had but they were both there nonetheless),
back to back. One faced the counter, his mirror kin
facing me, with my chair to the diner’s stained glass.

I didn’t ask, we just ate, but we never ate
before, alone, us two, even with the double.
There were the usual pleasantries, try this, here, how’s that, great
but not much more was left at the table.

Everything in its own place, the twins were saying,
rearranging the condiments. They were sliding
them back as we’d found them, then placed their closed napkins

over their plates. I know, I said shyly,
Everything back in its place. In its place again.
Then I threw mine down open and they bowed, slowly.

—Sam Thomas

Sam Thomas is a writer, poet, and screenwriter presently based in Athens, Georgia, and Oxford, England. She is at work on a novel about expats in Brazil and Senegal.

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