Compulsions
Right Angles
Einstein had seven matching suits to choose from
to start the morning. He did not waste time.
For my part, I have hangers – I use one
for T-shirts, one for long sleeves, one for coats.
I brush teeth and roll on deodorant
by counting. As a child, I counted stairs
in Italy’s cathedral towers. And
I microwave for set amounts of time,
depending on the item. All these things
will bug me if done otherwise. I need
right angles on my desk, around the house –
a glass, a hanging wash cloth. My friend Andy
just told me a right angle is a fair one,
each half gets a fair shake. If things are not
just so, then I adjust them. It is not
indifferent to me. I had a blind
student once who counted steps; she knew
precisely where the door was, where the stairs,
how many stairs were for each floor. My dad
saw number on all sides, for mathematics
was what he did. For me, it is a small
compulsion I’m not free of. As the world
distributes line and number, I am made
at ease to see those patterns, I cannot
ignore their presence, cease to count the stairs.
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