Traits

traits

she loves the feel of those socks
that have individual glove-like
grips on every digit
which is no surprise because when
she sits barefoot her big toes
embrace each other tightly
like distant bald footballers
after a goal has been delivered

the sink to her is where you pile
everything in before taking them
all out again to fill it with water
to put them in again
to wash them to take them out again
nothing I say can dissuade her from
this irregular domiciliary cycle

punctuality is the time told
in a foreign language it makes
no sense to her the clock
has stopped at exactly the last
time she looked at it
so I have developed a voice
to announce
how late we are at the moment

when asleep she crosses her arms
and drapes a hand over her shoulder
it rests like a little wing
you could not sculpt this
and make a form of it
nor describe the moment
in a poem of words

she definitely wants babies
to placate her keening I bring her
chamomile tea and tissues
rub oil into her tiny belly
and tell her how fat she looks
it makes her happy
and our exile from each other
is deferred for now