She left me with nothing but math.
Bedroom walls miscalculated
to the color of a bruised plum.
Sheets tangled into
isolated geometries.
Even the nightgown
hung on the closet hook—
its three buttons, opaline,
an insoluble equation.
And the moonlight,
subtracting itself across the floor,
proves distance by degrees:
light slanting
in the hallway,
the acute angles
of an open door.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
She left me with nothing but math.
Bedroom walls miscalculated
to the color of a bruised plum.
Sheets tangled into
isolated geometries.
Even the nightgown
hung on the closet hook—
its three buttons, opaline,
an insoluble equation.
And the moonlight,
subtracting itself across the floor,
proves distance by degrees:
light slanting
in the hallway,
the acute angles
of an open door.
