|Oct/Nov 2004 • Poetry • Special Feature|
it is easy to outline objectives:
plot a five-point star whose sides
are the sum of a canary's heartbeat,
determine the frontier of set S
when intersected by segment X;
if in doubt, consult an analyst.
Years after, the rhubarb still
blocks the driveway. Family
heirlooms thrive in this manner.
The inflatable pool in the yard
is holed with darts. Pregnancies
are mathematical problems where
correction pens bleed away,
transparent as chicken soup.
On her eighth month, a mother
spends hours calculating random
ovulation and math homeworks over
her belly. The pulse of summer:
upstairs then down, unplanned children
screech like unstable atoms.