With thick sticks of chalk
pressed between her fingers
she draws circles on the driveway,
some loop around each other,
others float aloof beside the bordering lawn.
She hasn’t mastered square
or triangle but the unrelenting way
a thing spins back into itself
makes perfect sense to her.
Cross-legged on the blacktop beside her
I etch triangles, isosceles, obtuse,
three lines colliding, a shape
held together by the pressures