“After 29 years stuck together, the twins were willing to accept the risks of surgery for the chance of separate lives.” — CNN headline, July 8, 2003
The two couldn’t have been more
different, even if they were attached
like the stem of a plant
that grows two distinct
flowers; no, they were more
like a double-hipped cherry—
two pits with the fleshy mass joining
them at the center.
Laleh, whose name means tulip—
and Ladan, whose name means nasturtium
were destined from the start.
Arriving in the world as one,
they leaned into each other—
at the skull, thought a thousand
different thoughts but shared
one clear vision—
to be able to run without the other,
to know silence, when the other wished
for chatter;
to look at each other,
face-to-face, without a mirror.
They hauled themselves under a wide chador
to law school; defied the police—
adorned themselves
with red lipstick. They could
get away with it
because across the land
their celebrity afforded them
protection from scrutiny.
Each dreamed of a separate greatness—
Ladan, with the twinkle in her eye,
the smaller face, dreamed of being a lawyer
so she could change the way
women were seen
in her country.
Laleh, with the upturned eyebrow
and slightly crooked smile,
went along with law school but dreamed
of becoming a journalist,
maybe even writing about
her sister’s fight for justice.
She imagined herself a poet, too.
After so much togetherness, hearing
her sister’s breath nightly,
it was impossible not to dream
of the pleasure of distances,
of absence.
When they heard of the Nepalese twins
disjoined at one year, they decided to risk
it all. At 29, they saw separation
as the ultimate freedom.
No matter the risks,
they told the doctors,
we don’t want to wake up
as one.
For fifty hours, the team of surgeons
sawed and chipped
at the hardened skull between them—
the column of connection.
They sorted through
the blue veins buried
in tissue and flesh,
with tiny instruments
that would reroute
blood like transit maps
so that Ladan and Laleh
might travel
different roads
than the one
that led them to this longing.
But the doctors could not save
them—We managed to open
the sisters’ skulls safely, Dr. Loo Choon Young
reported, but with the opening
of skulls came the shock
of a hidden vein—
a nexus they could not detect
in all the medical
calculations.
The closeness of limbs,
the constant touch
of hands
and shoulders,
was more
than an obstacle
for the two women
who longed to bloom,
like the two separate flowers
of their names.
***
Fri. Sept. 18th, 6 to 7:30pm
Persis Karim will be reading her poetry at the Bowery Poetry Club as part of the Persian Arts Festival’s (PAF) “Shab-e Sher” (available online to watch via LIVE WEBCAST on www.bowerypoetry.com)!
This season’s event will begin on September 18th with special guest Persis Karim!
Persis Karim is a California poet and nonfiction writer. Her writing has appeared in numerous literary journals including Caesura, HeartLodge, and Reed as well as online journals such as shortpoem.org. She is contributing poet and editor of Let Me Tell You Where I’ve Been: New Writing by Women of the Iranian Diaspora (University of Arkansas, 2006) and contributor and co-editor of A World Between: Poems, Short Stories, and Essays by Iranian-Americans (George Braziller, 1999).
Persian Arts Festival (PAF) has successfully revived Shab-e She’r, A Night of (Persian) Poetry, at the Bowery Poetry Club (BPC) but with a modern, new generational spin. The program has made its comeback and expanded what tends to be a very classical Persian tradition to feature modern works of literature, ranging from fictional novels to memoirs. Entering into its third season, PAF and BPC continue to host readings of well-established and emerging authors who are of Persian descent or specialize in Persian literature. Readers have included Nahid Rachlin, Manijeh Nasrabadi and Joe Martin to name a few. An open mic typically follows the reading, inviting everyone to read either his or her own poetry or works by other poets, in Persian or English, bearing some connection to Iran or Iranian/Persian culture.
The Bowery Poetry Club is at 308 Bowery, New York, NY 10012 in Manhattan. Nearest subway is the 2nd Avenue F train.
