The wasp is building a nest
outside the bathroom window.She dips her sleek face
into each cell of it in turn,
each cell, so perfectly fitted
to her body, and to the next,
and the nest itself so carefully sited,
south-facing, between two panes of glass,
and so warmed and protected
from both sides. It would be ideal,
but for the fact that I would like
to open the window, and
I would not like to be stung.
For now, I watch her
as I brush my teeth.
She moves from cell to cell,
building, smoothing,
then settles at the top
for a moment, then starts
again and for the life of me,
all I can think of
is myself, all big belly
and anticipation,
folding the same six pairs
of tiny socks, over
and over again.
