I did not eat my twin

When you eat a chicken
Do its bones join yours?
Does its spirit become an equal partner
In the individual called you?
Do you miss its presence
Like a phantom limb
The size of a human body?

When your progenitor dies from the effort
Of giving you life and breath,
We generally have the good grace to think
You did not murder them.
It was just a tragedy.
But when I tell you I'm twin zygotes fused
You say within a second,
"So you ate your twin?"
I hesitate and do not reply,
Because you would not understand
If I spoke my mind and spat
"We heard that, jackass,"
Because I didn't eat my twin.
We kept our failing bodies alive.

Every extra bone I have,
Every blessed incongruity,
Is a divine testament
To how we can give each other everything
Before any other thought.
Every time I think twice, I remember
There's two of us in here.
Every time I miss her, you tell me
I murdered her.
Twins grieve each other like few others do
So no, I didn't eat my twin.
I was the only one to attend her funeral.
I loved her so much
I laid her to rest in my body.