Which Girl Am I? by JoAnne Growney
The girl who’s not forced to divide
into the good girl and the real one
is a lucky one. I was eleven
when I felt a crack begin.
In time I fully split — two minds
took on two heads, two faces,
two cuts of hair. Mock feelings
serve as well as true ones,
I told myself — but buried parts
still surface like cicadas in their year.
Long division is difficult
and plagued with remainders.
A girl with two heads
is like a bird with one wing.