Je ne sais pas
I cannot find a word for you
your prickly chin, baby hair on stomach
curt responses.
I know there is something tender inside which,
like avocado, has to be cut open the right way.
I cannot find a word
that describes the sound of your voice,
talking about that other world where a
sense of humour derides,
sorts out which coconut shell the pea is under.
I cannot find a word for the moth softness
of a father, protecting his child from sharp surfaces,
leading it with invisible string through the labyrinths.