The Phoenix by Anne Kingsmill Finch
A Female Friend advised a Swain
(Whose Heart she wish'd at ease)
Make Love thy Pleasure, not thy Pain,
Nor let it deeply seize.
Beauty, where Vanities abound,
No serious Passion claims;
Then, 'till a Phoenix can be found,
Do not admit the Flames.
But griev'd She finds, that his Replies
(Since prepossessed when Young)
Take all their Hints from Silvia's Eyes,
None from Aredelia's Tongue.
Thus, Cupid, of our Aim we miss,
Who wou'd unbend thy Bow;
And each slight Nymph a Phoenix is,
When Love will have it so.
"Come on Pat! Ryan is getting away!" My twin sister, Cleo, yelled over her shoulder.
Cleo was more courageous than me. It is said that twins are the same person, that they share so many traits and aspects. We should've both been mischievous little devils who climbed up cliffs, but only Cleo dared to do the unthinkable. I wanted to run, but I had a fear of tripping and scraping my knee. I knew how to climb, but I was scared of a tide pulling me into the dark. We thought the same, looked the same, but only one of us acted out the fantasies that played in our heads.
A favorite game of ours was cops and robbers. We both loved playing the cops for some reason. I guess in a way we saw ourselves as lions chasing a sick animal; at least that's what I thought. I think Cleo thought of something else. Maybe she saw herself as a King charging into battle. I never knew. It didn't matter though, because we owned the game and it was our chance to rule like the monarchs we were meant to be.
"Pat! Pat! Hurry, he's getting away!" She continued to yell at me.
I couldn't help but laugh. She was so close to catching Ryan yet she still relied on me. She could do fine on her own, but I wasn't going to voice this. It feels nice to be needed, especially when you and the whole world know you weren't. Gives a seven year old with no real skills some confidence. "Pat!"
Her fingertips brushed against Ryan's coat and before she could grab him he took off at a faster speed. It was amusing to watch Cleo throw her hands up and her face grow red. She stomped at the ground and gripped at her hair, "That dirty rat was saving his energy! I can't believe this! Grr!"
I stood beside her and watched as she sat down. I thought she was going to give up, but I should've known by then that Cleo wasn't the type to give up. She took off her shoes and handed them to me. She tossed the sweater that grandma had knitted for us at my face and ran off. I shook my head thinking that mother was going to be mad. Those were Cleo's Sunday clothes. I walked in the direction Cleo had gone and eventually find her and Ryan in a puddle of mud. Cleo was trying to drown him, "This will teach you about breaking the law ya punk!"
"Cleo! Ma is gonna kill you!"
Cleo looked up at me and held Ryan by his blonde locks, "I don't care. Someone's gotta teach 'em a lesson!"
Then she continued to slam his face down into the mud. I sighed and sat down on a nearby bench.
"Woah," a man sat down beside me, "what did the poor guy do to deserve that?"
