Emily lives in San Diego, California where she teaches at San Diego Global Vision Academy. She serves as a teacher leader at her site, creating and presenting professional development for the teaching team. Emily is also a fellow and teacher consultant with the San Diego Area Writing Project under the National Writing Project. As a teacher consultant, she is honored to work with a diverse teacher and student population across San Diego. Emily believes in teachers teaching teachers and strives to perpetuate that model. She spends her free time with her husband, seven month old son, and rescue dog.
Inspiration
Blending my two favorite subjects to teach – mathematics and writing! They marry well together and I often use similar prompts in my class to encourage writing between disciplines and to inspire students to tap in and share their voice.
Process
Make a list of significant numbers in your life – try to come up with 6-8 values. Choose one (or more) that inspires a bit of writing from you today. If it feels right for you, start and end your poem with the significant number you chose. I took a bit more inspiration from Amy Uyematsu’s poem “The Meaning of Zero: A Love Poem”. https://poets.org/poem/meaning-zero-love-poem
Here’s my list of significant numbers:
7 lb 12 oz
June 6, 2009
2 out of 4
Twenty
6th floor
8
1 in 3
Emily’s Poem
June 6, 2009
A mere few inches between
Our outstretched fingers
With each passing minute
The distance closes
2 inches,
1 inch,
Half an inch
The sun beams through
A breeze tickles the curtains
Our pillow fort
Becoming warmer and warmer
In a good way
Our lips beat our fingertips
The gap is closed
Negative space
Twenty years amounting to this
A boy and a girl
Making promises
June 6, 2009
Write
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
In the Courthouse
Seventeen short years ago
Inside one courthouse, small and white
My tiny legs climbed up each step
And rested after every flight
Five tiny fingers held inside
My dad’s strong hand, calloused as leather
Two years we spent side-by-side
But many more we’d spend together
One brown desk inside four walls
With one old judge perched in his chair
In my mom’s lap I sat and watched
As she ran fingers through my hair
Two names signed in pitch black ink
Nine more letters to my name
At four years old they drove me home
And life would never be the same.
Numbers
Remember when three became two?
I don’t.
Few memories last from two.
Short clips of shouts and anger and tears.
That’s all. It’s enough.
Ninety-eight.
Now that’s a long time
to sit and think about people who are gone.
Great Grandma said God didn’t want her yet.
He must have changed his mind.
Grandma’s one hundred and two.
Now that’s a long time
to sit in a room,
locked away from family.
There are no more friends at that age.
She doesn’t really notice.
It’s better that way.
One day we’ll sit face-to-face,
That’s all. That’s enough.
Wow! Such sadness in your numbers. Such power in four words, “That’s all. That’s enough.”
11-1/2 years ago
I was a newbie
in my first classroom.
Full of knowledge and
minimal experience, but
someone took a chance.
Taking over in the middle
of a school year,
Feeling like a substitute
With my name on the door.
Over the year, so many changes.
3 different states
6 different schools
12 classes of Scholars
A lifetime of memories that began
11-1/2 years ago.
Donnetta, I loved this! I really like how you ended the poem the way it began. My favorite lines are “feeling like a substitute with my name on the door.”
1 Ib 12 ounces,
is how much I weighed when I was born.
I was born three months early.
It’s a miracle I’m here today.
Most children that small don’t survive.
Grateful is what I should be.
4 out of 6,
I’m the fourth in the line of children.
Together our initials spell out TLGENJP
I know that’s not a word,
but I got your attention didn’t I?
Grateful I am.
10th,
is the floor number that I lived in my freshman year of college.
What I remember most is crying the day before classes began
and the whole year that followed.
I was pursuing my dreams
Grateful is what I should be.
2021,
is the year that I will graduate
and all of the prior events are what will have helped me.
I will be the first in my family to graduate with a degree.
And I will understand the gravity of that.
Grateful is what I am.
Naydeen, this was such a beautiful read! I am blown away by your experience and I love the way you have woven gratefulness into each of your life chapters. Thank you for sharing!
I know I’m late, but I wanted to give it a try.
am positive
That life begins at conception
The moment one cell divides into two
And then rapidly multiply exponentially
Until a form takes place; a simple form
A form shaped like a circle with
A tail whose diameter is so minute
It takes a microscope to see it
But it’s there floating as in the vastness
Of space. It rests and grows and grows
It’s form no longer measurable in diameters
Or radii. It has developed limbs and become
Solid and massive and formidable in that
It moves. It stretches, yawns and smiles.
It eats and poops and feels joy and pain
It travels a narrow tube which has such a small circumstance that it’s passage through It will leave it permanently changed
There is a negative reaction to emerging
From this tube; crying, feeling the hash
Reality of birth.
For in that moment
Of life It
begins
to die.
Donna, thank you for posting! I love the use of the math terms in your poem. What a beautiful way to weave life itself in with mathematical concepts.
Great poem. i visualized so many parts of your poem. It made me think about my own conception and birth and the beginning of life and death (no solemnly, though). It also brought back sweet memories of carrying my own two babies. You did an excellent job of incorporating math/numerical terms, as well.
House numbers
407 Victory Drive
first home address
linked to phone number 554-2411
post office box number 411
numeral representations of me when
old enough to know them, share them
identifiers
511 Regent Place
my second home
last house at the bottom of the hill
a stately drive up to a red brick house
asphalt and pine trees
azaleas and boxwoods
the number less significant
than the visual memory
2701 Rockingham Drive
my current residence of nearly
30 years, a home where I helped
plant the memories, where two
children grew up,
gardens grew and trees planted
birthdays celebrated, pets buried
numbers mark the location
identifiers
Jamie, thank you for sharing your poem. I love the tribute you made for each of these homes. The detail you provide paints beautiful imagery.
Emily, the line “our lips beat our fingertips” took me directly to the “let lips do what hands do” Romeo and Juliet scene! #Steamy! Loved it.
This was a hard prompt for me. I decided to write about my siblings. I hope they don’t mind!
One genius with chicken scratch writing
Two a suffering artist who died surrounded with love
Three sister whose headache turned into a brain explosion
Four straight arrow IRS man who does everything by the book
Five
laborer who is struggling to breathe
Six gentle soul trying to figure it out
Seven Uncle Bad who has to give everyone the business
Eight survivor we never thought would see the other side of H1N1
Nine who the eff am I? You tell me!
Oh, MO! I want to immediately write my own sibling poem in response! That tells me how intimate/conversational your poem was to me. (I think we have some shared siblings.) Have you read Sarah’s “Alone Together”?
I did and I loved it. It was eerie. Sometimes I felt like she was writing about my family! Thank you!
Mo, thank you for sharing your poem today! I love the tribute to your siblings. What a great way to see numbers in the world. You’ve inspired me to write my own sibling poem!
These numbers represent significant people in your life. Isn’t interesting , I guess just human nature, that we can so easily read and figure everyone else out? Just a thought…after reading your last line.
I used the number prompt to write a limerick based on my favorite math problem: How many ways can you arrange a family of eight around a table? (Yes, I have six kids.) The answer to that question (40, 320) must be read as “four-oh-three-two-oh” for the rhythm to work. Thanks, Emily! This was fun!
The squawking at lunch was raptorial.
Each meal was a buzzard tutorial.
Arrangements of plates
For a family of eight?
40320: eight factorial!
Allison,
Limericks are so fun to read! Such a nice rhythm to this one. “Raptorial” and ‘buzzard tutorial” I adore those two lines and rhymes. Love the use of creativity you have for the words in this poem, but also for the numbers you used for the arrangement. How cool!
oh, my gosh…that’s great! And a challenge. Wowsa. Take a bow
And we have a winner!!
Allison, what fun! I love the playfulness in your limerick!
Sheer BRILLIANCE! Love limericks! Yours is a powerhouse and so much fun! 6 kids? OMG. You’re a shero for sure!
Great limerick. Now you have me thinking about solving your math problem on paper just to see what I come up with. Thanks .
Drive to and from College:
Starting Point- Flower Mound, Texas:
14 miles and I’m in Denton, TX. Home of The University of North Texas, Home to my favorite used book store that I would spend hours in flipping through old tattered textbooks.
56 miles and I’m in Thackerville, Oklahoma. The Texas-Oklahoma border. The legendary Winnstar Casino in which many of my friends drove up to on to their eighteenth birthdays. The dazzling lights of the mock Big Ben and Eiffel Tower welcoming me back into the Sooner State.
106 miles and I’m in Davis, Oklahoma. Home of Turner Falls. Memories of falling into the creek and eating warm PB & J’s with my high school friends the summer after senior year makes me smile. I turn up my music as I drive past the winding mountains.
163 miles and I’m in Norman, Oklahoma. One of my least favorite places in Oklahoma (go pokes) but I might stop by to see a few of my OU friends.
179 miles and I’m in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. A city so different from my home city of Dallas, but so lovely in so many ways. I think about the day my dad and I visited the OKC bombing museum and how I burst into tears thinking about how someone could do something so terrible to a state with such good people. I smile when I think about being only an hour away from Stillwater.
192 miles and I’m in Edmond, Oklahoma. My safe haven in Oklahoma. My favorite town in the whole state. I’ve spent so many Saturday’s and Sunday’s wandering the target and half priced book store whenever I’m missing home. So many memories of dragging my college friends to this town that I’ve grown to love and forcing them to try Torches Tacos. I’m in the home stretch to being back at OSU!
208 miles to Guthrie, Oklahoma. A city that I student observed in, my friend Jacob’s hometown, and a nice place to stop for a Braum’s Brownie Sundae.
239 miles and I’m in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I am home.
Kaitlin,
Oh gosh! I’ve done this drive many times in my life and it always makes me so sentimental. I relate to so much in this poem and you have described it so beautifully! Such a wonderful poem and so happy you love Edmond as much as I do. Thank you for sharing.
Kaitlin, I love how you used miles as your numbers. I immediately thought of the mile markers in my life, the repeated paths I’ve taken to visit a daughter in Denver, an oncologist in Iowa City, my parents it Ft. Dodge. This was a really cool way to use numbers/distance to explore experience and memory. Wonderful!
Kaitlin, an amazing map! I love the idea of using numbers found along a drive. Thanks for taking all of us on a journey with you!
I like your use of numbers as measurement of distances and the relationships among the various points – it’s fun to say the many ways we look at numbers and how numbers shape the way we look at various aspects of our lives – nice invitation
My 50th year
the cusp of one year without
you, I ache
May 16th ushers emptiness,
a sapphire vase, only ashes
I long for your smile, your voice
Your grandson turned 21
So handsome — but you already know
Your granddaughter was beautiful
in her prom dress of emerald green
— she wanted you to see
And the youngest, well you always said she was
wicked smart for 12, and you were right
you were always right
Then there’s me and those ½ steps that I keep treading
I never reach my destination
I wish you were here
In my 50th year
Tammi – You’ve shared such a sorrow here. “The cusp of one year without you” gives that sense of counting away the hurt. The half steps…never reaching my destination” is just so hard, so raw. Your sharing the growth of children in this quiet conversation is intimate and beautiful. Thanking for this poem. Susie
Tammi, thank you so much for sharing this piece with us today. Your poem paints grief and sorrow beautifully and thoughtfully. These lines really hit me right in the chest today:
“Then there’s me and those ½ steps that I keep treading
I never reach my destination”
Disclaimer: Sorry for the rodent gore, and the repeat topic–it’s just been an ongoing saga that I have been tracking numerically, so it seemed appropriate for today’s prompt.
“Chipmunk calculus”
10+ piles of intestines scraped from the cold concrete garage floor.
9 ounces of bleach sanitized the cold concrete garage floor. At least the cat
8 the majority of the bodies!
7 narratives spun about underground networks and revenge plots–a Rats of NIMH spin-off?
6 limp bodies paraded through the front lawn for onlookers to ogle.
5 earnest–and ultimately successful!–attempts to talk the cat into relocating his snack outside, off of the white rug.
4 neighbors encourage the predator to perpetuate his massacre.
3 times the Mexican rug has tumped innards into the leaf-covered flower bed.
2 rodent tails delivered to the trash can punctuated by the human gagging.
1 scurries down my neck chest stomach after turning the light off for bed.
“Zero patience for the chipmunk,” thinks the cat as he slinks past the window.
“3 times the Mexican rug has tumped innards….” has an exotic ring to it. I feel a little sad for the poor chipmunk, but I’m loving the visual imagery of this artistic cat. He’s like a New York City Department Store window dresser, only he uses dead chipmunk bodies to decorate his own local operations. It would make a REALLY cool and clever but gruesome counting picture book!
Laura,
Love the title. You’re using bleach the correct way, so props for that! “At least the cat 8…” is a fun pun. Kitty takes pride in her work. Your poem does have an element of gore and reminds me of reading “Willard” in eighth grade, but as Kim says, it does have exotic imagery and would make a fun counting book. Books w/ a bit of the macabre are in vogue. Fun poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Laura – Oh my word, this is a doozy description. Gross, but good! What a funny use of the numbers…made me chuckle. They made it feel like a circus of critter carnage. What a cat! OMG! “8 the bodies”…yuck!! Loved The Rats of Nimh! Ha! And ending it with the cat “slinking past the window….”…hilarious. This was really a dandy! Thanks, Susie
Laura, thank you for your poem today! You painted such a fantastically gory picture with these chipmunk bodies. I love the ending so much and also the title “Chipmunk Calculus” – so fun!
Lou
So fun – a numbers game from the time of the chipmunk – and quite the day for bleach references – definitely for external use only – fun look at the last few weeks – Mom
Emily: What a beautiful birth-day poem! You wove numbers so naturally into it, I hope your twins are picking up numbers as naturally.
My poem is not at all as happy.
THE MATH–& COLOR–OF PAIN
Anne Johnston, 2020
Thanks to Robert Johnston
I pretend to capture my pain in FRACTIONS,
As if objectivity applies to my head
THROBBING 8/10
THROBBING 9/10
THROBBING 10/10
Pain squeezes my brain so I cannot think.
Color flows out, the color of pain:
An all-pervading darkness that covers plans
so the future is obscured.
Pain controls present and future.
Hyper-refractory migraine: a migraine that has defeated
all but a handful of medications.
Born June 11, 2018. My constant companion ever since.
24/7.
The more hours and days it stays with me,
the better the chances it will last a long, long time.
PATTERNS:
The irony: there IS no pattern to my days,
No promise that tomorrow will be a cherished and long unseen 7/10,
No warning that it will be a truly horrible 10/10.
Even as the dark color lifts off today so I can plan—just ONE day!—
I write out my medication schedule, then
I dare to write out a work/writing schedule.
What folly that I should think I could impose a pattern, order, on my life!
10am Throbbing begins Low 9/10* Concentration is painful & VERY difficult
11:30am THROBBING 9/10 FULL-BLOWN trying to write, focusing slowly, one word, then a second word. Visualizing details of images. Breathing.
3pm THROBBING High 9/10 Nothing works at this stage. Watching British detective shows, but not really. Squeezing my teddy bear as my brain is being squeezed. Working not to cry because crying makes it worse.
So much for my schedule, trying to create that elusive order. Pain has humbled me,
like every other day since 6/11.
I have personified pain, my constant companion,
And denied the objectivity of the fractional descriptions
even I hang upon her.
Indeed, I exploded those fractions, penning a finer scale
To better serve my own pain patterns.
But this is not a peaceable relationship.
I will NOT let pain control me
At least not the preponderance of the time.
Words! I use words, writing, to control my pain:
Composing poetry helps me to keep pain at bay, for awhile.
Writing ABOUT pain lets me think about how to stay functional,
How to keep going in spite of the pain.
The numbers are a necessary shorthand.
But they are heartless and cruel in their pretense of objectivity.
Only the words can truly capture my pain.
Anne—I have no words. This is as strong a depiction of pain as I have ever read. I am just sorry that you have the knowledge to share with us. The numbers are a necessary shorthand…only the words can truly capture my pain. Wow. I hope they find something that will help, so that your words can share your relief with us.
Anne — Your description of your migraines is so visceral. I’m so sorry. I don’t get migraines but both my daughters do and when they do it is bad. My youngest loses her vision and it is usually accompanied by a panic attack and my older daughter spends hours vomiting. So so awful. The way you describe your event is so intense. I can feel the intensity mounting in your poems and the repetition of your words. You really do capture your pain in this poem.
Anne, this poem describes migraines so vividly. I read the whole poem before I realized that I was reaching for my temples as I read!
Emily,
Thank you for such a fun and versatile prompt. I can see myself writing based on this and using it with my students for sure.
Your poem is precious. I really love this line: “Our lips beat our fingertips.” What an image!
Once again, I rushed this and don’t feel good about it, but I’m my own worst critic.
Twenty-two
22
A number of great relevance
Taylor Swift sang about it . . .
“We’re happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time”
“It feels like a perfect night for breakfast at midnight.”
My uniform number in sports . . .
bump, set, spike
volley, forehand, backhand
The age I felt the most carefree . . .
new town, new job, new bank account
independence, excitement, adventure
22
The day in October of 94
we got engaged
The day in July of 95
we got married
The day in April of 97
we became parents for the first time.
22
As in “Catch”
a situation I’ve found myself
in a number of times . . .
I’m glad I’m here.
I wish I wasn’t.
~Susan Ahlbrand
24 April 2020
Susan—this wonderful! Tracking 22 through your life—coincidence, or fate?! My favorite parts—the sports set—those sharp words had so much energy. And I love the catch 22 reference. Well done!
Susan — I love the way you capture the free spirit and freedom of being 22. I feel the excitement of all those first!
Susan,
Wonderful celebration of 22. Love all the newness implied in your 22nd year. It’s uncanny that your child was born on the 22nd. The Catch 22 verse is my favorite. I actually told a person at Apple I felt caught in Catch 22 today as I was dealing w/ a fraudulent charge, d Ss o I’m taking your poem as an extra special gift today. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susan, I love this tribute to “22”. I love that this number appears and reappears in your life in such meaningful ways.
Four
The number of chairs at our kitchen table
And bedrooms in my childhood home
Divide it by two for our roller coasting days
Add two to include our furry friends
One hundred and fifty-eight as a sum
An infinite amount of love between us
Lauryl, thank you for your writing today! I found myself trying to work out the numbers as I read it – so much fun!
Lauryl, I love a poem that delivers a punch and simultaneously leaves me with questions and yours does exactly that. I like that you’ve ended your number-centered poem with infinity; the concrete numbers in your poem pose questions, and the final abstract number is completely understandable, relatable. Thanks for sharing!
Lauryl — I love the way you were able to create this poem all around one number. Very clever!
an unconventional love poem – an unexpected place to land – somehow reminds me of Valentine for Ernest Mann
Emily, thank you for this prompt and such a neat description of what you do and what you love to teach. I would love to know more about combining creative writing and math. That is such a unique combination. Do you blog or publish? Please let us know. Your poem is delightful…full of sweet childhood. It brought back memories.
1974
One for the first novel
from storytellers to poet
It all started with a girl,
her dog, ruby shoes
and a yellow brick road.
Nine times at least
our poet read her book
in her closest
on the creaking radiator
in the back seat of the car
and under bed covers.
Seven years old, second grade
was old enough
to print her name
on an end paper
after the inscription
“To Linda
from Grandma and Grandpa
9/28/74”
Four new friends
Smart Scarecrow
Loving Tin man
Lion of Courage
and Dorothy
an adventurous girl
with a story to tell.
1974 was a good year
I am amazed at the different ways we are playing with numbers today. This is wonderful. I, too, read the original Wizard of Oz. Great friends for any little girl. There’s no place like home…
Wizard of Oz! What an awesome tribute. Thank you for sharing this today!
Linda, while I haven’t read The Wizard of Oz, your poem took me back to reading Harriet the Spy on the staircase at my grandmother’s house. Thanks for your words and the journey! I really like the way your numbers are not chronological; you capture a moment from different angles so specifically while breathing life into numbers–something I find astonishing and exciting!
Linda — I love the beautiful story you tell with these numbers. “A creaking radiator/in the back seat of the car/and under the bed covers” — wonderful images and “Four new friends …” Yes, I can totally relate because I felt the same about those characters when I first met them. Thank you for sharing your beautiful memory.
I love the Wizard of Oz and I loved how you related that story to your own life and identity!
Linda,
you make me want to go to 1974 to experience that year with you! I love the way you describe The Wizard of Oz, so amazing! My favorite part was the end, naming all of characters and bringing the audience back to what year you were talking about. Thank you for sharing.
To Do List
Isaiah One Seventeen
Micah Six Eight
Matthew Twenty-two Thirty-Seven
THANK YOU! Love your choices! Clever way to work with numbers today too.
Cool! A code…I need to go look these up
Katrina, thank you for sharing your writing today!
Katrina,
The world would be a just and merciful place if we all included these biblical admonitions on our to do lists. Sadly, these don’t seem to be part of the prosperity Christianity paradigm. ‘Preciate your reminding us of these prophets’ teachings and the apostle Matthew’s words.
—Glenda
Very clever! Guess I should read those verses now.
Life
0+9= Day 1: You are born
Have you chosen this family? Is that true? I wonder.
1+11= Year 1: You take your first steps
The beginning of your freedom.
1+3= Year 4
You suffer a great loss.
You bury it.
Your entire life changes.
4+7= Year 11
You become a “woman”
Now what?
You dream and make plans
So excited for what’s yet to come
11+7= Year 18
Another life lost to cancer
So young, so many dreams
7+15= Year 22
You leave your family
You leave your homeland
You’re full of regrets
You are so scared
22+3= Year 25
You become a mother.
You feel unconditional love
You find your passion
25+5= Year 30
A milestone – you are not old, but
You are not longer young
A betrayal
Your whole life changes again
You remember the loss you buried deep down
when you were 4
Fear surrounds you again
30+8= Year 38
Another loss to cancer
She goes peacefully
You make peace
You miss her
You’re an orphan
30+22= Year 52
You work
You change jobs
You lose friends
You make new friends
You buy your second house
You live life
Still, you feel scared
Today-Year 52
You think you are finished writing this poem
And as you reread it
You discover that
Today-Year 52
You look at the extraordinary human being you raised
You look at the life you have built
You look at the things you have accomplished
You look at the people in your life who are now family
You look at your choices
You realize your life has been rich and
Today -Year 52
You smile
Monica, what an interesting way to write a story of life. So much loss, emotion, discovery, but Today “You smile” This is so rich and full. A beautiful tribute in numbers to a life well-lived.
Monica,
I love the reportorial tone, the objective telling of your life story in this poem. I admire your ability to see so clearly all the choices, consequences, and richness of life. Not being “finished writing this poem” means you are embracing all the life left to live. Have fun. For the most part I enjoyed my 50s. Thank you.
—Glenda
Monica,
I found myself doing lots of addition and counting to see how you were thinking about the current year and time in between. I loved all the additive qualities of the anaphora at the end with “you look at,” which is a lovely way to celebrate accumulation, to reflect!
Peace,
Sarah
Monica, thank you so much for sharing your poem with us today! I’m so happy the prompt brought you here. I am excited to use this structure as perhaps a mentor for some I’m From poems. Love it.
This … this brought tears to my eyes. You’ve captured the human condition of love,loss, fear & love so well. This was beautiful!
I love how you share so many important milestones in this poem and how you reflect on all of your life experiences that have you to who you are today, thank you for sharing this!
Due Date
March 28th
Is the due date
February 28th
Is the birth date
4 weeks
Couldn’t wait
6 pounds, 5 ounces
Was the birth weight
Wow! Alex, congratulations! Is this a brand new baby just now?! Holy cow! Sending good cheer! Those dates…early but wonderful! Susie
Alex,
Reading your poem I think about the logic and methodical biology of birth. We note the numbers, count the weeks. This is all methodical, but the subtext is emotional. That’s the negative space I see in your poem, the not said love that resonates in every line, every number. Perfect. Thank you.
—Glenda
Alex—short, sweet and to the point! Congratulations on a gem of a poem and on that new baby!
Love how rhyme punctuates and celebrates your bundle of joy. I found myself attending to the tense of the verbs “is the due date” and “was the birth weight.” What is the current birth weight?
Sarah
I love the simplicity of your poem! The rhymes / repetition make it so satisfying to read. Congratulations!!
Nice…and with rhyme! If this just happened…and you are writing coherent poetry, bravo!
Alex, thank you for this! I bounced my head along as I read and reread your poem. I love the playfulness most.
Thank you, Emily. I’m not surprised numbers are meaningful to you. You tied the 15 in such a lovely way in our recent “At 15” poems. Thanks for your prompt today and for your sweet June 6, 2009 poem. It’s amazing how a simple prompt can inspire us to write a poems we never would have written without it. Thank you. Here is my poem today. I hope you don’t mind that I am incorporating some of your poem into mine.
7 Years
(with inspiration from lines in Emily Yamasaki’s “Dear Emily”)
7 years
Jacob and Rachel–
My husband’s favorite analogy
“Seven years I had to wait for Denise”
Now I know what I didn’t know then.
I could have given myself advice:
At 18 Keith is going to ask you to marry him
Let him down easy
Not yet
You both still have growing up to do
And in 7 years time
you’ll ask him back
Standing in his kitchen
on the 14th of February
He, sick in his brown fuzzy bath robe
You, saying I’m ready
We’re going on four decades now
We’ve said over the years without those 7 years
We would not be together today.
7 years became a gift of a lifetime
Denise,
Seven is definitely your lucky number. I love the way you celebrate a separation of time that ultimately brought you and your husband together. Thank you.
—Glenda
Oh, Denise,
I was drawn to the punctuation in the first sentence and then there isn’t a period at the end of the poem, which make me think, “perfect” because the “gift of a lifetime” endures!
Sarah
How wonderful and sweet…the bathrobe included. I think this is a gift poem.
Denise, wow! Thank you so much for sharing your writing today. I’m touched by your kind words. This poem gave us a small glimpse into this part of your life and I am so grateful to have known it. I love that those “7 years became a gift of a lifetime.”
Denise, love stories don’t get more unique than this……a no, and seven years later in a fuzzy brown bath robe when he’s sick, you’re ready with a Valentine’s Day yes! Timing is ABSOLUTELY everything – and yours was perfect!
Denise, I love how your opening comments capture what Sarah J. Donovon has said about this poet community: we come together and create ACTUAL POEMS that did not exist before we…did this. Each day poems exist that did not exist the day before.
I love how you wove a mentor poem into your own!
I also love the STORY you told here: of doubt, of waiting, of realization, of love. What a lovely expression. Thank you.
Denise,
what a beautiful love story! I loved the part where you said let me down easy and that in seven years you will ask him back. It’s magical that it was 7 years, which is a lucky number!
My number is 11 because I was born 11/11. I’ve written about it before and don’t want to beat it over the head, so I’m going at a different angle of 11.
Divinely Mine
By Stacey L. Joy, ©April 24, 2020
I’m not one for psychics
More one for realistic
More spiritual and mystic
But I’m open
1111 means to be
ONE with life
Prepare for blessings
The door opens for me
The time on my phone
Wait, there it is on the stove
then the dryer dings at 11:11
Our texts cached 11 of 11 images
A signal from my angels
Don’t make a wish
Say a prayer
Believe I receive
Poised in power
Embraced by 1111
My divine number for
Clarity
Protection
Love
Poised in power—what a great line! I wish I had a magic number…, Prepare for blessings—what a good philosophy for life, Stacey!
ha! love how you don’t want to beat 11/11 over the head. What a great poem…so many images but they work together. And, the poem ends in love. Wonderful.
Stacey, I love the energy of your poem and the connections to 1111. The line “A signal from my angels” resonates a wonderful positive message. Your end is sheer perfection. I love how you’ve stacked those final three words: “Clarity, Protection, Love.” It was so wonderful to read your poem today. I feel uplifted by your poem.
I catch an important number on my clocks all the time too! It seems so mysteriously significant whenever I do. Very nice!
Stacey, “Poised in power / Embraced by 1111” You have had a special number for a lifetime, it seems. I’ve often noticed when the clock says 11:11, but you have done so more often than me, I’m sure–a time of noticing, praying, preparing for blessings. A lovely thought today for a nice birthday number. I also like clarity / protection / love.
Stacey, how very special to have the birthday of 11/11! I have long watched for these numbers on my various clocks, believing in their specialness, seeing them as “a signal from my angels” and the opportunity to make a prayer. “1111 means to be/ONE with life” – so powerful, so strong and open. Thank you for this!
Stacey,
I love the paradox, the contradiction, the exception (not sure what to call it) in your opening: “I’m not one for psychics…but I’m open.” I love the way the double 1 of 11 pops up throughout the day in the second and third stanzas, the way it embodies multitudes of many with one. I love the I in 1. It’s visually clever and appealing. Thank you.
—Glenda
Glenda, thank you. What did you see that was “I in 1” that’s clever and appealing? I’m lost. LOL. Maybe I stumped myself with my own poem.
Stacey,
“ Believe I receive
Poised in power
Embraced by 1111”
And, of course, the I looks like a 1.
Ha!!! Thank you! Yes, I agree! ?
Stacey,
I appreciate the “mystic” elements in your poem. It is so nice of eleven to keep visiting you. These lines:
Wait, there it is on the stove
then the dryer dings at 11:11
Our texts cached 11 of 11 images
These lines are fun. The alliteration in “dryer ding” made me smile.
Sarah
I learned a little about 11:11 from students. As you explain, we don’t have to believe in psychics to give special regard to numbers. The cool thing is that once we have heard of 11:11, it will give us pause when we happen to see those number on our phones or computers or wherever. I think it is what we do in those pauses that is important. Thank you for reminding us of this.
1111! I love it. So many times I’m happy to “catch” it on the stove or in my car or on my phone. Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem, Stacey! I love these lines, they sing to me:
“1111 means to be
ONE with life
Prepare for blessings
The door opens for me”
Stacey, how wonderful that you have the 11:11 birthday. I always make a wish when I catch 11:11, and it’s so neat how it happens. That birthday must be the confirmation that you have the magic anointing that comes with the blessings of 11:11. I’m so glad I know an 11:11 baby!!
“Booch”
Every nine days
Fermentation
Culturing on a counter
Growing in a glass
Bubbling of bacteria
Liquid gold
Baby SCOBY
Placenta visual
Rubber band textual
Vinegar scent-ual
Probiotic
Tea and sugar
History through centuries
Slippery starter
Thirsty to quench my gut
I love the way you describe what is a scientific process in an appealing way with such an economy of words. I should have caught what you were doing from the title. I thought it might be sourdough starter, but by the end, I understood. I like the mystery of the poem.
Stefani, thank you for sharing your writing with us today! I love the quickness in your poem today and how it made a sort of rhythm as I read down the lines. Sounds delicious!
Emily—this is tender, and soft, and lovely. A boy and a girl, making promises. Perfect.
This prompt was a challenge, but a good one! Thanks for making me wrestle with it!
Thank you so much for your kind words!
Sixty-six
66 is a nice number.
Stable. A nice even number with soft edges.
So much easier than 16 (ugh!) or 25 (the angst)
or 30 (but I’m not a success yet…)
or Thirty-FiveFortyForty-fiveFiftyFifty-five Sixty.
66 is comfortable.
Old enough to know what doesn’t matter;
young enough to embrace the things that do—
Family, and health, friends and walks and a good glass of wine at the end of the day.
66 is missing
Friends who have passed,
friends who drifted away,
friends who never really were… friends.
Just acquaintances. And that is fine. (See line seven)
66 is storing
memories, photographs, songs, images, words, hugs, farewells
In boxes in our head to be opened at odd moments,
pulled out to be savored when needed.
66 is saying goodbye
to classrooms, and students, and lessons,
harried, hurried lunches, and meetings—so many meetings.
66 is saying goodbye to my waist and thick hair
(though that was long ago)
66 is time’s up.
66 is peeking
around the corner at the glimmer of old, wondering
who will be there with me, and
who I will be
when the next big number comes along.
Gayle, this is so lovely. I love the playfulness in your first stanza and the question of the next big number at the end. Why are we so constrained by age numbers???
Hi Gayle,
Wow, I can’t wait to be 66! I’m a decade under you and I feel like you’ve given me a glimpse into the future and it’s vibrant, exciting, and way more relaxed! Whew, Lord knows I’ll need it!
I sat with this for a while:
“66 is storing
memories, photographs, songs, images, words, hugs, farewells
In boxes in our head to be opened at odd moments,
pulled out to be savored when needed.”
Then I felt the anticipation of retirement (a few years from now for me) and reveled in this:
“66 is saying goodbye
to classrooms, and students, and lessons,
harried, hurried lunches, and meetings—so many meetings”
PLEASE NO MORE MEETINGS!! I wish distance learning also meant no meetings. Zoom meetings are worse than any in-person meeting ever! Watching people’s faces, food, artwork, messy cabinets, etc. Just a hot mess!
Thank you for this peek into my future. Live that lovely life my friend!
Gayle,
I love all of this. Your structure and the repetition of “66 is” open up the poem to so much possibility! Thanks for sharing!
Gayle, Your poem really spoke to me. I love the image of opening the stored memories to be “savored when needed”. I can so relate to appreciating the escape from “harried, Hurried lunches…” I especially enjoyed your phrase “peeking around the corner at the glimmer of old”…such a perfect sentiment because it sounds like 66 is a time to enjoy! I sure enjoyed your poem! Thanks!
This is a precious ode to the wisdom and beauty of our aging. I love (and I do this, too!) keeping memories and more , “In boxes in our head to be opened at odd moments.” It surprises me how things come back to me, live and real. Thank you for this!
Gayle,
This lovely homage to that year one year past the traditional retirement age almost makes me want to jump head first into 66. I love the repetition of the number, the way your poem smoothes my anxiety about growing older. Perhaps it’s because I grew up on Route 66, I think about roads and journeys toward a destination as I read your poem. Lovely. Thank you.
—Glenda
This is powerful and so sneakily (in a good way) autobiographical. I never thought of using the prompt in this manner. Now, I wish I had.
Gayle, thank you so much for this moving poem today. My favorite line was at the top. “Stable”. I love that word and what a fantastic way to start this beautiful tribute to 66. Thank you so much.
Gayle,
Never did I think of 66 in so many ways. I love the many positive angles that you provide for 66.
Fave line:
“A nice even number with soft edges.”
This is a gem.
Hello my friend! Emily, you are such a gifted writer. I had to read it about 5 times to catch it all! I’m sure I still have more to grab onto. What a powerful love story told in three stanzas! It’s moments like these that make lifetimes of memories:
Our lips beat our fingertips
The gap is closed
Negative space
Sensations washed over me, “In a good way”
Clapping over here for you! ?
Stacey, thank you so much! And a huge thank you for inviting me into this space. It’s been and has become such a crucial part of what I do.
Emily, thank you for your prompt. I’m still processing the loss of my second son and felt compelled to write about him today.
Second Son
We were both born on the 25th
You, one month before Christmas
Me, six months after
Your birth, two days after Thanksgiving
Was difficult; I lost so much blood
Weighing in at nine pounds seven and ¾ ounces
We christened you with the longest name
I cannot begin to estimate
The joy you brought to my life
A consummate comedian
Imitating Austin Powers
Singing “Jump in the Line”
“Drift Away”
“Dock of the Bay”
Competing was second nature
An athletic star: wrestling, swimming,football, track
Remember when you washed
The shot puts at home
Putting a hole right through
The porcelain sink
Or when you were very young
My date for the The Sound of Music play
You turned to me excitedly and said,
“This is a berry, berry good show!”
All agree
Your hugs were the warmest
Generous to a fault
Sensitive and stubborn
On a cold November day
The monkey on your back
The burdens you wouldn’t share
Added up to too much
You decided to leave
An infinite wake of grief and
Shattered hearts unable to heal
In any single way
Barb Edler
April 24, 2020
Oh, Barb. Your memories are beautiful, and your sorrow is shared. An infinite wake of grief… My son, too, carries a monkey on his back. For many years, every time the phone rang, my heart stopped just a little. I am so sorry for your loss.
Barb, thank you for your vulnerability and for sharing this poem today. I responded emotionally to your fifth stanza, “All agree…” as the idea of common love for your son shines through. I am sorry for your loss.
Barb,
As one mom to another, I want to hold you and erase your pain. You are brave. Thank you for trusting us with your story, with your tender memories. May we be worthy of them. I don’t know where to start in telling you all I love about your poem. First the specific dates, weight, details of lost blood that takes on symbolic meaning later in the poem, I love them all and think about my own birthing pains and joys. I giggled at the washing of shot puts in the sink and sang to myself as I read the song titles. “An infinite wave of grief” washes over us as we read, knowing your mama heart cannot be healed completely. There is no way to mend some broken hearts. We can only hope for moments of catharsis from time to time. Love and peace to you.
—Glenda
Barb, thank you. I wish I could reach out to you physically. This was a beautiful poem and it paints grief in a delicate, yet knowing way. Thank you for sharing this piece of your life and being vulnerable with us today.
I was born on a Sunday
morning
the only one of mom’s eight kids
who chose morning over night
(which explains why I still
always do)
I guess I was ready to greet the world
I came with the sun
mom says I came out hungry
(which explains why I still
always am)
dad was queasy and had to sit down
before he could hold me
and mom said, “she has a dimple like my dad!
oh, wait! she has a dimple like her dad.”
I’m sure mom cried
the nurses stepped back
and music played on loudspeakers
from somewhere in heaven
and I stretched my lungs and my limbs
and felt a little disoriented
but safe
9:12 am
Rachel, I adore the image of you stretching your lungs and limbs (but safe) at 9:12am. I’ve often wondered if morning births bring about morning loving people. The music played on loudspeakers from somewhere in heaven is a lovely addition to this!
Rachel, I love that you can share this wonderful story of your birth. This is such a delightful and poignant poem. Your ending is exquisite. I especially enjoyed “music played on loudspeakers from somewhere in heaven/and i stretched my lungs and my limbs” . Truly enjoyed reading this. If your parents are still alive, I am sure they would love reading this. Thanks for sharing such a beautiful poem.
Rachel,
I love the subtle number references—“one of eight,” “9:12am,” the subtle hint at the seventh day, Sunday and its unique place in the week; the “a dimple” meaning one. What really draws me into your poem is the implication you have all this information about yourself from countless stories. That’s a lovely math hint. Thank you.
—Glenda
This is such a sweet poem, a beautiful homage to your birth. I love the parentheticals.
Rachel, as a child in a family of eight, you will likely connect to Sarah J. Donovon’s novel in verse: “Alone Together” (the protagonist is #9 of 11).
Your poem is beautiful. You have given the deserved spotlight to your own birth. Your closing lines gave me intense pleasure:
“from somewhere in heaven
and I stretched my lungs and my limbs
and felt a little disoriented
but safe”
Rachel, thank you for sharing your poem! I loved this story about your birth. It takes me right back to the hospital when I had my boy. I especially love the details and connections you made to your parents. Beautiful!
I’m still struggling with my own poem, but thought you might enjoy one of my favorite number poems.
Arithmetic
by
Carl Sandburg
Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.
Arithmetic tells you how many you lose or win if you know how many
you had before you lost or won.
Arithmetic is seven eleven all good children go to heaven–
or five six bundle of sticks.
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand
to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.
Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice
and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky–
or the answer is wrong and you have to start all over and
try again and see how it comes out this time.
If you take a number and double it and double it again and then
double it a few more times, the number gets bigger and bigger
and goes higher and higher and only arithmetic can tell you
what the number is when you decide to quit doubling.
Arithmetic is where you have to multiply–and you carry
the multiplication table in your head and hope you won’t lose it.
If you have two animal crackers, one good and one bad, and you eat one
and a striped zebra with streaks all over him eats the other,
how many animal crackers will you have if somebody offers you
five six seven and you say No no no and you say Nay nay nay
and you say Nix nix nix?
If you ask your mother for one fried egg for breakfast and she gives you
two fried eggs and you eat both of them, who is better in arithmetic,
you or your mother?
Gayle, there’s never been a better story problem in math than the one Carl Sandburg leaves us with at the end. I’m pondering it now. I want to discuss those lines with my students. I’m going to borrow this and place it on my classroom wall as an example of writing affecting all areas and subjects of life!
Emily, your math poem is a love story, and I so enjoyed it; I particularly like the way you built suspense through numbers, “2 inch, 1 inch, 1/2 inch” – so fun! Thank you for this fun challenge today …I put on my math hat and told our story through numbers:
Our Math Story: Fun with Numbers
12 of 13 + 2
meets
3 of 5 + 2
and decide to
add
together.
Which means,
in 1988,
(12 of 13 + 2) + (3 of 5 + 2) = 1
I think
2 as 1
while
simultaneously
1 that respects 2
is the hardest math of all.
In time,
this 1,
these 2,
added 3,
making 5.
After 25 years go by,
the numbers
begin to go down
because
1 of 3 splits off
and adds 1
and another
1,
and
2 of 3 splits off,
and
3 of 3 splits off,
with
2 as 1
remaining.
2 wonder if/when
2 of 3 and 3 of 3
will dare to add 1,
but realize
it is 0 of 2’s business.
So, long story short,
we 2 are 1,
together.
Sometimes numbers can be just as beautiful as words, if not more so, and you have proven this here. I really like that I understand everything haha. And I really like “but realize it is 0 of 2s business – I appreciate my parents never nagging me about “if/when” I will have kids, so thank you. A lovely numerical poem 🙂
Maureen,
I am in awe of you and this family history poem. I giggled at “but realize / it is 0 of 2’s business.” Love this clever way of telling parents of adult children to let their kids live their own lives. My heart filled w/ love reading “1 that respects 2 / is the hardest math of all.” That is so true. You must share this w/ your children. I’d love to revisit this poem in your blog Tuesday. ❤️+❤️=(❤️❤️)Thank You.
—Glenda
Maureen, thank you for sharing your poem today! I love the math play in these lines so very much. It’s playfulness made me smile today!
Maureen,
This is very clever and fun. I think it would be great read to a crowd at a slam poetry event! It also would be a fun way to turn math stories into detective work. Thank you for this.
I love how this makes me try to figure out the math in my head…super poetic. And I love the “long story short” ending!
Maureen,
Clever as heck!
Also, what do yall think about this: http://logical.ai/sestina/org/permutation.html. It boggles my mind.
Looks so fun! I’ll have to give it a whirl later today!
Also, Emily, I like your description of the closing distance with measurements – favorite part.
Interesting prompt, thank you, Emily. I like to teach essay writing to my math loving students as a type of equation and this exercise reminds me of that. Another I will have to try with them 🙂 This really reminded me a bit of the letter to 15 year old me.
Seven Phases, Five Locations
At some point
I began to look
at life in phases.
One, add Texas
to childhood
add many friends
times belonging by ten.
Two, add Arizona
to adolescence
divide belonging by five
add sun and dry heat to heart
add a calling in eighth grade.
Three, add Louisiana
to teenage bewilderment
add culture and knowledge
add a friend with wings
subtract family
subtract pieces of the heart
subtract innocence.
Four, add a most favourite place
to independence
add a sister from another mister
add more family
add brilliant oak trees to heart
multiply memories by four
add confirmation of a calling
add failure and a need to escape.
Five, add California
to adulthood
add environmental consciousness
add many bikes rides in small town
add hippiness
add wine country hills and
cool ocean coast to heart.
Six, add three again
add a sick grandmother
add first real job at high school from three
subtract patience
add growth
times experience by five.
Seven, add Bangladesh
add culture
add meaning
add experience
add healing of heart
times knowledge by three currently
and this equals something
resembling a mixed number.
This is a very clever twist for a mathematical poem, reflecting on your life! I’m in love with your title, “Seven Phases, Five Locations” – you share the meaning of each phase so succinctly and beautifully. I wonder, how many more locations await? How many more phases await? The ending says that you are well poised to find out, “add healing of heart times knowledge by three…”
Holy cow, Angie — You have beeeeeeen through some math. All those places and now all the way to Bangladesh. In so few words and lines, you’ve mapped through numbers and numbers and numbers….and roosted on “a mixed number.” This is fascinating. I actually liked all the subtractions….they opened the can of worms you have here. Each calculation, if you will, is a pathway to another poem. I really liked your poem and what you did with the mathematics of it. Thank you, Susie
Angie,
WOW! I love everything about your poem, beginning with each stanza starting w/ a number and adding the myriad experiences that sum up a life of adding and sometimes subtracting. So clever. The last stanza is my favorite with its final lines: “and this equals something / resembling a mixed number.” We’re doing complicated math here. Love it. Thank you.
—Glenda
Angie, I love the way you used the action words like “subtract” “add” “times”. Your poem takes me on a journey and I love the way you’ve said so much in such few words. Thank you for your writing today!
Angie, the math is incredible! I have this image of a mathematician professor doing this long equation on the board and coming up with the correct answer: something that resembles a mixed number and so accurate all at once. I love these lines best:
Five, add California
to adulthood
add environmental consciousness
add many bikes rides in small town
add hippiness
add wine country hills and
cool ocean coast to heart.
That hippiness is appealing to me. It runs in my blood, and I would love a glass of that wine, too!
What fun, Emily! I get to write another family poem, and in honor of the Bard whose birthday was yesterday, I’ve used a line from Romeo and Juliet..
What’s in a Name?*
What shall we name our son?
He will be the one
To carry on the name
With honor if not fame.
Shall we name him after you?
You were named for your father
Who was named for his father, too.
Do we need another of that name. Why bother?
Oh my! It’s a girl, not a boy.
And she looks just like you.
The problem is solved. Won’t that bring you joy?
An idea has evolved. She’ll be number two.
We’ll name her after you.
They called you Rosie in college.
You were an athlete with lots of knowledge.
You gained honor and you earned fame,
So we’ll give our girl your name!
Yes, we gave our girl his name.
She’s brought it honor and also fame.
And in a sudden career change,
She decided to be
A teacher, just like me!
*In honor, too, of my daughter Rosalyn Renée (You know renée means “reborn”, right?) and my husband William Gerald Roseboro.
Anna, Having that bit of history behind the names adds a wonderful layer to this poem today. I found that I was looking for the numbers throughout. I liked thinking on the number two within the line, Who was named for his father, too. That word too meaning two and the II after a name. Thanks for getting me thinking today!
Jennifer, the “hidden” number is three. We already had three Willilams! Guess what? We named our second child, and first son, William Gerald II! He is named for his father, but the grandfather and great grandfather Williams have different middle names. (Aren’t you glad you brought this up?)
So good to know! And yes, having more info is always good. 🙂
A joyous mathematical poem! Love all the ways you weave in math, especially “The problem is solved.” One name, “She’s brought it honor and also fame.” Thank you for this window into your dear family!
Anna, what a fun story in your poem today! I love that she “brought it honor and also fame.”
Anna—I always love your ease with rhyme, and the comfortable cadence it adds to your writing. I especially like the second stanza—Do we need another of that name? Why bother!
Anna,
What a beautiful name! I really loved this poem. Especially the way you say you thought you were having a son at first, but then it switches with surprise. So funny! I really enjoyed reading this. Thanks for sharing!
Anna, what a beautiful story of the naming of Rosalyn – and how fitting that it means “reborn.” I know that is one proud Daddy that his sweet girl has brought his name honor. I love it when the leaves on the family tree have special meaning like this!
As a matter of clarification, Kim, Rosalyn means “little Rose” Renée means reborn.
As you noticed, our last name is Roseboro. When my husband played basketball at Penn State, they called him, “Rosie”. That’s where he got his “fame” (I’m bragging now. 🙂 The years my husband played on was the first time the Nittany Lions won championships! He also was a Chemical Engineering major, that’s the”knowledge” part of the poem. I married a scholar-athlete!)
Emily,
You’ve given us a challenging, unique prompt. Like Kim, math has never been my forte, and I wish I’d learned more of its complicated forms because I do love the way it cracks open writing possibilities. I love your poem, the way you measure distance, the beginning and ending w/ a date. It’s lovely and inspirational. Thank you.
“ Macy’s Math“
I do Macy’s math.
Take an extra 50% off
The already marked down price.
I don’t need a sign to
Tell me you two selected the
Y half of the XY equation.
I can do the math:
Subtract myself from the
Sum of two parts.
Solve for X. What remains?
Why I do Macy’s math.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, Macy’s Math is about my speed as well. This is such a clever response to Emily’s prompt (dare I say challenge for those of us – me – who work hard at math?). These short, tight scenarios provide the perfect visuals for understanding real world math. That last one makes such an impactful math statement.
Glenda — Dang, girl! You really did a great number on this one. ‘-) I love “Macy’s math” … so funny. And “the Y half of the XY equation” — so so fun to think of the algebra in the chromosomes! I just am totally tickled with your witty, fine self. “What remains?/ Y / Why? Cuz you really have it goin’ on here! WITTYWITTYWITTY! Thank you, Susie
So, we are talking XY chromosome, right? “I don’t need a sign to/Tell me you two selected the /Y half of the XY equation” – very clever, very clever. All women should be guided to “Solve for X.” Love that you call this “Macy’s Math,” everyone’s favorite sale price.
Glenda, what fun! I love the variables and the concise, quickness to your poem today. Makes me want to do some shopping.
Good morning Glenda! My kinda math! Macy’s Math! I love it. My favorite part is “Subtract myself from the Sum of two parts.” Yeppppp! I am right there with you!
Happy Friday my friend!
Glenda—I love the rhythm in the poem—it sort of skips along! Your equations are wonderful, and the “ulterior motives” made me smile!
Wow! This is great! I love the fun in this. I do Macy’s math too. You make a common, every day task I never even think to notice fun here.
Glenda,
I love reading your poems. Your creativity both amazes and inspires me. Macy’s Math made me smile.
Glenda, Your mention of Macy’s math reminded me of reviewing algebra to take the C-BEST test to get my California teaching credentials. At that time, few states accepted credentials from other states. So after moving from MA, I had to take a test to get certification to teach in CA. There was a math section! YIKES!!!!
Our math tutor had us change all our math problems to dollars! Then, most in the class could come up with the right answers. We could compute many problems in our heads!
Glenda, your shopping math brings a smile to my face today. Yes, Yes! This is math that matters. I love this line: “I can do the math: subtract myself from the sum of two parts. Solve for X.” That’s an impressive algorithm that I am going to have to learn before I go shopping again…..thanks for the great math tip and the humor today!
Glenda,
all of this diction takes me back to highschool and all the math included there. Macy’s math does not sound easy. I love how you used the prompt! Thank you for sharing!
Emily,
My heart is so full today. I am so glad you joined this writing community months ago and that you agreed to host this 24th day of #verselove. Your poetry moves my heart consistently. I feel so honored to bear witness to your life and family through your verse and carry your words with care and appreciation.
I LOVE these lines especially today —
Our lips beat our fingertips
The gap is closed
Negative space
There is something about the paradox of negative space that I love being in.
Peace,
Sarah
Sarah,
Thank you so much for not only inviting me, but also encouraging me. It has been a challenging and new year for me and your kindness and inspiration have really lifted me up.
Emily
I think each of these demands a longer poem — I see them as separate yet related and want to sit with them like this for now. Just two snaps shots or opening stanzas that are okay as they are and promise to welcome me back when I am ready to find out what’s next. Thank you friends, for being with us today! Peace!
Dad was always counting us
to make sure no one was
left behind in the nail aisle
at Ace, in the bathroom at Jewel,
floating at the bottom of the pool.
I was number nine.
How long does it take
to plan a wedding on a dime?
When heart attacks a beloved man,
ALS and grief stall the
Sunny State wedding caravan.
The answer is September.
Sarah,
Rereading your poem I see a paradox in the first stanza: all children are included. Dad counted to make sure of that, yet being number nine hints at exclusion, too, or at least the feeling of it. I love the question in the second stanza and the way grief w/ its subtracting commingled w/ a wedding, and adding to a family. That, too, suggests a paradox. This all has me thinking about how the numbers align for each of us. Thank you.
—Glenda
Thank you for sharing your noticings, Glenda. I am noticing paradox in a lot our poems today, and this might mean the way numbers can be neat and concrete and yet always indicate division, addition, remainders. Ugh…there’s another poem cropping up.
Sarah — Oh gosh, the first stanza just hammered me…. what a sense of counting…being ninth… at first the playful notion of scads of kids (I LOVE “left behind in the nail aisle/at Ace, in the bathroom…”…made me laugh) for a parent to track. Not easy and kinda funny. But the “bottom of the pool” gives nine the whole next story …that I hope you will, indeed, come back to hatch. What a terrific image idea and possibility for quake-in-the-boots next lines. And the heartache that comes with loss juxtaposed with wedding… good stuff. Yes, these are lines that I want to read again…I want to see what you will reveal. Thanks for these personal and rich images. Susie
Sarah, wow! These two snapshots pack a huge punch. The flow of the first one really caught my attention and is begging for me to learn more about the nine!
Oh, Sarah. These are so beautiful. You are right–as I read them, they were each invitations to keep reading. I hope you are welcomed back to explore what’s next. They are so powerful.
After a familiar beginning, the last two lines in stanza 1 took my breath away, “…floating at the bottom of the pool / I was number nine.”
“When heart attacks a beloved man” is an amazing way to put it, and it is something I hadn’t considered before–his heart attacked this beloved man. It is very powerful. So many powerful images. I do hope to see more of these someday.
Oh, my goodness…number nine. And then, number nine loses what numbers 1 &2 & 3 surely had…more of Dad. There is sweetness in this sorrow with the wedding. But, September must be sad still. Wow, what a poem.
Oh my, September is month number nine!
Sarah, so much of Alone Together comes rushing back as I read your poem today. I love the image of Dad and nine kids mesmerized by nails, and I’m sobered by the stalled caravan. There is a “heart in my throat” feeling as I read this last stanza.
[Note: Emily – this prompt opened a thousand, zillions, hundreds… you get the idea, it opened doors for me that I hadn’t really considered very much. Wonderful, sitting here thinking about what is packed into a number. I love this!]
ONE
When your voice
and my voice,
his note and hers,
find each other,
hear each other,
melt, a single sound,
it carries power like a sun —
from all of us is one.
When bets are lost and life’s a bust,
have drained my cup,
can’t step up,
disconnected, reinfected,
on my last dime, can’t find a rhyme,
fell down the well and shot my wad,
all it takes to break that trance,
a chance, it just takes one.
When sun and moon
decide to slide
one behind the other,
a distillation of light
into a frozen ecliptic sleight,
hushing our jangled minds,
two perfect orbs magically,
totally one.
by Susie Morice©
Susie,
That first stanza — it is a song, my friend. I think you need to bring this one into the studio for another “tiny desk concert” for #verselove! This is kind of sexy in my reading of it — where is my mind ging at 8am on a Friday, sister? “decide to slide” and “two perfect orbs magically/are totally one” –yep, intimate and sexy
Sarah
Susie,
I love the rhythm and cadences in this gorgeous poem greeting me like the morning sun rising. I love the erotic language and images throughout and agree w/ Sarah’s comment that the poem is very sexy. That’s a good morning vibe, I think. I tried to pick favorite lines, but it would be silly to copy and paste the entire poem in this space. Love the image of the sun sliding behind the moon so that “two perfect orbs magically / are totally one.” Gorgeous. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susie, thank you for writing today! I am so glad the numbers brought out this beautiful poem today. These lines really resonate with me and I’m carrying them with me today:
“all it takes to break that trance,
a chance, it just takes one.”
The power of one!
Yes, I, too, hear beautiful music in this poem! It just rolls and sways and moves as you read it. Love it! Have you ever read the picture book One by Kathryn Otoshi? Your poem could also be picture book….Thank you for this! A sparkle for the day!
OOoooooo I want to dance to this poem! It’s magical and beautiful and all things lovely! I probably love it so much too because the number ONE doesn’t make the poem all “mathy” and “thinky” LOL.
I can’t copy a line I most connected with because it would look like this:
When your voice
and my voice,
his note and hers,
find each other,
hear each other,
melt, a single sound,
it carries power like a sun —
from all of us is one.
When bets are lost and life’s a bust,
have drained my cup,
can’t step up,
disconnected, reinfected,
on my last dime, can’t find a rhyme,
fell down the well and shot my wad,
all it takes to break that trance,
a chance, it just takes one.
When sun and moon
decide to slide
one behind the other,
a distillation of light
into a frozen ecliptic sleight,
hushing our jangled minds,
two perfect orbs magically
are totally one.
Brilliant poet friend, I adore you and your poem!
Susie, I love the music – the harmonious voices blending as one. I could hear it as I read the lines. I also enjoyed the “ecliptic sleight” – that’s a neat visual of the merging of two into one. Your distillation of light is beautiful in the final stanza and throughout!
Emily, I love that you brought your love of math to us today. Each stanza is beautiful (the closeness counted down in inches, the tickling breeze, and my favorite – twenty years amounting to this/a boy and girl/making promises.) There is so much hope and love sitting in those last lines! Thank you for letting us play with numbers today.
4n
Math is a language,
someone said.
I read this math one day:
Eleven + two = twelve + one.
The numbers spoke to me.
It’s the only sentence equation
I fully understand.
*this poem contains an anagram in numbers (all the letters in eleven/two can be re-scrambled to spell twelve/one)
Jennifer,
I love seeing the + signs in this poem — add such visual meaning. And the line “It’s the only sentence equation/I fully understand.” Sentence equation is a great phrase that seems to have some paradox and layered meaning — I can hear it in a song or used figuratively in other ways — I am sitting with this one.
Sarah
Jennifer,
Like Sarah I love the signs in your poem. I’m wondering what significance the number thirteen holds for you, and Im thinking about the title’s meaning in the larger equation. This is a spectacular and clever poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Glenda, oddly enough, 13 is one of my favorite numbers (ever since Detroit Tigers Lance Parrish wore that number), but the significance is in the anagram (eleven/two re-scrambled spells twelve/one and it’s a true statement). It’s the wordplay that makes the sentence “readable” to me. 4n is the idea of math being a foreign language to me.
Jennifer — you picked out a number concept that did not occur to me… and I love it .. the “sentence equation” of “Eleven + two = twelve + one — this has serious poetics. You offered me up a lightbulb this morning, and I’m grateful for the experience of your poem. I’m loving the foreign – 4n experience! 🙂 So witty. Thank you, Susie
Jennifer, thank you for writing today! I love the symbols and the numbers that hold much more meaning when you zoom out.
I like the idea expressed here that the same answer can be expressed in different ways. Ahh math and poetry similarities.
Jennifer, thank you for pointing out the anagram. I never knew that one. I had wondered why that was the math sentence that spoke to you. This is so clever and fun. “the only sentence equation I fully understand” Very sweet poem today.
Jennifer, I haven’t ever thought of math as a language, but it sure is! It’s one I wish I had learned to “speak” better, but it was one of those things that never made sense like words did. I’ve heard of colleges allowing music to serve as a foreign language (reading sheet music), but I’d lobby for math too, just as you mention! How neat that you understand the equation with the balance on either side! 13, too! 🙂
OHHHHH! So much to love here! Thank you for your *explanation. I would not have caught it otherwise, but lovelovelove it and would not want to miss it.
Is 4n “foreign”?
Yes. Math is a foreign language to me!
Emily, THANK YOU for this unique and mind-stretching prompt today! You’ve given readers a way to welcome and hug math when some of us prefer not to even answer the door when it knocks. Your poem is absolutely beautiful – the way you count down the distance in inches with the grasp of two hands as you approach your special day – – I love the closing of this gap between your fingers as your lives unite. Your countdown includes time AND narrowing physical distance, which is a more visual fusion of two lives. I love this!
A Dozen Reasons Readers Love Numbers
1. Me talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
2. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
3. The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
4. The Sign of the Four by Arthur Conan Doyle
5. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut
6. Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid
7. The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne
8. From a Buick 8 by Stephen King
9. The Ninth Hour by Alice McDermott
10. The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware
11. The Eleventh Plague by Jeff Hirsch
12 Twelve Angry Men by Reginald Rose
Kim, I wish I’d thought of this! There are many favorites on this list, and it made me think of so many more (I actually began a mental list of my favorite dystopian novels while reading yours). This poem works to recall memories as the titles or authors immediately drew me to a memory (where I was while reading the book, or who introduced me to the writer, etc) which made for a fun journey today.
Kim,
I love this clever approach to the math prompt. Love that each title has the number corresponding to it in the left column. I’m adding to my TBR pile and recalling some other book titles w/ numbers, such as “Station Eleven” by Emily St. John Mandel. Now you and I can go stand together in the math scares me corner. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim — How crafty of you to think of those titles and numbers — aaah… this is just one of the zillion things I like about this community. And each of your numbers is a big ol’ number 1 ! A couple that I need to read, too (2)! 🙂 I need to get on it! Thank you, Susie
I love that you always allude to texts in your poems (I think it’s always you). Could be wrong. This is creative.
Kim, thank you for writing to the prompt today! Your poem brought a huge smile to my face – so many of these reads I love. The few I haven’t read yet – I guess I know what’s going on my next Amazon order.
Kim, yay! How fun! I wouldn’t have ever conceived such a brilliant way to work with numbers in a poem. I love it. Which book on the list is your favorite?
You ➕poetry = ❌⭕️
Ditto to comments of others regarding the list of books with a number in the title. Some of you have students doing BINGO reading challenge to encourage students to expand the kind(s) of books they read. One of the options on the one I offer the youth at our church is to include a book with a number in the title!
Kim, your list is one I could suggest to the high school students who may not have an idea of where to start. One of my eager to please young people may try to read them all just to show off!