She is left-handed –
Think about that.
Think about cutting bread with a very sharp knife,
Or turning a page, or counting notes,
Or tying a lace, or dishing out mash,
Or brushing her teeth, or massaging your throat,
From the left-hand side.
She is left-handed –
Each statement a tripwire
Of half-breath deliberations,
Of unfinished sentences,
And then the distant gaze
And the deviation down some ferreting hole,
Holding everyone’s attention,
But not through conversation,
Oh no, it’s a heartfelt wish that she’ll come back.
And everyone’s too polite to ask
If left-handed people are all like that.
She is left-handed –
When we met she slept on the left,
Announced some ownership rights,
Some distorted set of back to front,
But a moment of surrender
Sent her over the edge,
And now she sleeps on the right side of the bed,
Where women usually sleep –
Especially when they are with men.
She is left-handed –
Which requires tolerance from me
When she rattles my ordered world.
Now I buy fish and chips for two,
And the wine is gone about half way through,
But it’s touching glasses left to left
That really messes up my head.
And she says she loves me,
Like she means it,
Like it might be true,
Like a left-handed person might say it,
Who hasn’t quite worked out
How wonderful it is to be
With someone disturbingly wonderful.
That’s she.
From Love and Other Distractions 2004