Tuesday, February 24, 2009
some of what she likes
She likes to hold onto the strings of my hoodie. She likes stripes and plaids. She likes to gnaw on our knuckles. The wind makes her squint but she looks out into it anyway, studious. She likes faces and ceiling fans and the upright parallels of shelved books. She gurgles conversationally at the refrigerator. She watches the thicket of bare branches against the sky as we walk. She likes crinkly plastic and polka-dots and eating. When she's eating she holds my braid like a bell rope. Awake, her hands move through the air like wrens. The light in her eyes, a precise match with the dusk outside our window.