This poem stubbornly came out of my pen and stubbornly refuses to be polished. It’s been sitting as a draft for far too long, and if it doesn’t care for self improvement, then it can be embarrassed for itself. I (unfortunately) give you, “I Used to Love Math but Now I Love What Counts.”
Once, I would count angles.
I would never round. I would keep you
Sharp, and to each decimal point
I would assign a certain
When I tried to teach my friends
How to visualize organic forms
And bonds and chiral spin in their heads,
They told me I was teaching incorrectly
And confined me to paper and pen.
It wasn’t my fault that I could
Trace reactions while they ran out of lead.
3.14159265359- I could go on,
But you’re rolling your eyes,
Talking over me already.
“Could you repeat that?” I ask,
“I didn’t catch all of what you said,
But I got the gist.”
I’d never heard you more solemn than when you said
“That’s exactly what I meant.”
So I stopped working out the factor trees for
Whatever time was painted on your clock,
And I stopped correcting people’s grammar
I stopped identifiying
The pitches and tones of the silver chimes
On your front porch, and
I just listened to the wind.
You said you’d marry me this July, or
Whenever I was able to walk across brick streets
And step on cracks without counting my steps.
My mother always said it would take
An act of God to knock the numbers out of my head.
But I prefer your more gentle ways.
I have rounded my corners and
given you edges in hopes
that one day we will click together.