Because of Labor Day, I’m all messed up in my weekdays, and I keep thinking it’s Monday. I suppose it will lead up to being pleasantly surprised when I get to the end of the (shortened) week, but I still did absolutely nothing yesterday, and feel simultaneously good and awful about that. So, here’s a random poem that coursed through my head this morning. I’m not sure how much more needs to be said about it, save that it’s unpolished and I’ll come back to it at some point, maybe?
Algebra [Kissing in the Dark]
Before she knew she was a lesbian,
she’d dig a mechanical pencil into my math book’s
unstained pages, filling the margins with love.
Or at least, what we pretended was love,
fourteen coming on to fifteen, dancing on tables
and pressing up against the lockers,
that sort of thing. The first girl I half came out to
pushed our heads together into the first kiss
that meant anything. Teenage sexuality has so much
in common with the rigor of algebra:
parentheses and the unpredictability of power,
the long strings of add and subtract,
a manipulation of nameless things you can’t see,
but you know are there. I only remember math class
because she dug her pencil deep. Every binomial
begins with the crude diagram of a heart.
And there is so much difference, too: during lecture
the elegant x of two people crossing lies cold
on the paper, but it becomes naked flame outside,
once you push its sweet unknown to the chapel wall
and try to solve it. Try to solve it; try to solve it.