360°
The circle her arms make around my neck
Gripping with the never say die strength of a three year old
Point of intersection
Her nose just barely touching mine
We pause for an Eskimo kiss (“Inuit mommy,” she insists with spirit)
Perpendicular
Her legs fly outward as I spin her around and around
I start to lose my balance responding to her demand of “Faster, faster!”
45°
The angle her arms make standing akimbo
Hands on hips, eyes rolling with disgust at my decisions
Slope of -1
My arms stretched downward, hands together in an inverse prayer
Pleading my case, desperate for her understanding
Reflection
Both with one foot outward, determined to stand our ground
“Yes these shorts.” “ No, not those shorts.”
180°
The scars running across her legs, across her arms
Across her beautiful, tender stomach that I used to cover with kisses
Parallel
The lines repeat, one after another, I stop counting at fifteen
Attempts to stop the pain, or create pain, neither of us really knows
Ellipses
The small white pills that seem to smooth the edges
Their curves return her softness
145°
The corner of her mouth rises, a half-grin, a secret grin
We catch each other’s eyes and share a moment
Symmetry
When I stretch towards her, she returns my reach
Our hugs last longer now, we know what we can be for each other
Obtuse
She is learning to extend instead of close, open instead of shut
I watch with joy and tell my own angles to soften
Helen Scanlon
Helen Scanlon lives, works, and moms in Northern Virginia. Helen is a passionate educator who trades screens for trees, yoga and yarn when she can.
