Perimeter of Rectangles

Size one

Enervated by background noise,

recollecting my words,

they are far from push-button.

It takes time to pick:

prefer voice notes,

prefer cue cards in conversation,

prefer essays to debates.

I’m not suggesting you were right 

but there is more than one way 

to do most things. 

I cut avocados widthwise

along the equator to intimidate,
test your tolerance of difference.

You know it tastes the same right?

I slice serenely amongst salad bowls, 

whilst listening for the slam of doors.

Size two

Most days all I want to do 

is frame myself placidly within 

the streaming shapes of light,

purr as few breaths as possible

on the briefly golden carpet.

Calculate how the perimeter 

around me fluctuates

as the sun shifts morning to afternoon.

Other days, I want to feel 

every thread of every garment 

each individual itch;

sit in the discomfort of tetchy tags, 

until I welt pink.

Size three

I thought you and I had so much

more to do / discover / magnify,

until our hearts expanded:

broke the x-ray of my childhood 

Christmas movies. Three sizes too big,

(nostalgia) I want that.

The hugeness which 

bends measurements, shatters screens,

escapes into creation from a grid book– 

perimeter unknown. 

Lately, I’ve stopped asking why; 

my questions deserted and dangling.
I must be waiting for the

rectangular frame to be filled. 

But when this happens, who will 

affix it to that unreachable hook?