She reminds me to study for our test

Over the edge of her assigned reading novel

One Tuesday at lunch 

As she sits with her back almost as straight as

Her hair,

The creases her mother has ironed out of her shirt,

Her sexuality.

You could do geometry with these perfect lines she creates,

Find clear answers when you plot points

On her perfectly straight teeth.

Mine have a colorful railway line running across them,

But they'll never be quite that right.

I wonder if she has ever been confused before.

I have only ever seen her live in graph paper and grid lines,

The equations in her color coded binder of a mind

Cannot be reconciled to the knotted mess of twins behind my eyes

And I wonder if she has ever questioned herself

Or her linear function life.