The Things I Know About Who She Is.

She has short hair and a laugh that cackles.
Her smell is gingerbread and lilies.
She knows all the state capitols and state parks.
Her mother’s name is Georgia and she loves this.

In her room are fourteen stuffed bears; all with names.
She loves the smell of wet concrete and graffiti.
Her brother is in the army and has killed people.
She is missing her left middle toe from a gym class accident.

Her favorite movie is one that is in French and I didn’t like it.
She misses her grandmother but has never even met her.
No one knows her middle name or her shoe size.
She doesn’t have a favorite color or number.

When she sleeps she brings her knees to her chest.
She lies on her left side with her hands praying between her thighs.
She snores, but it’s not an annoying snore.
Her snoring is amazingly rhythmic and punctual.

When she goes home for holidays she is perpetually seven years old.
Her mother’s arms are her only true safe place.
In her father’s office she reads the Encyclopedia Britannica.
Since starting when she was ten she has gotten to Lithuania.

She has very little patience for people with bad taste or bad teeth.
Her hair drastically changes color in the summer.
She tans very well.
She strongly dislikes cake but adores cupcakes.

Her birthday is on mine.
She hated turning twenty-four but loved turning twenty-nine.
Her birthmark is not for everyone to see.
She believes that she has the greatest reading voice known to man.