The Throwback

Even I can't help but notice, my sweet,

that when you tuck your chin

into your chest, as if folding a sheet

while holding a clothes pin

between your teeth, or when, a small detail,

you put your hands like so

on your little pot-belly and twiddle

your thumbs like so, it's as if you're a throw-

back to the grandmother you never met,

the mother whom I sight

in this reddish patch of psoriasis

behind your ear that might

suddenly flare up into the helmet

she wore when she stood firm against Xerxes.