CHAOS THEORY

[vc_row][vc_column][title type="subtitle-h6"]Alexandra Pleasant[/title][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width="1/3"][vc_column_text]

I was born screaming

like the brakes

of a lumber train,

and you of far

more cautious things.

Like falling,

like love with a Math major,

whose manic bipolarity

like chaos theory. Numbers

to rule the singularities.

And as far as evolution

is concerned,

Humans have neither

the Head nor Heart

to grapple with numbers

larger than our lives.

Infinity

to evade us infinitely.

For all his love of numbers

his mind won’t let him see.

He at times misses me.

With book in bedroom doorway.

But he catches the impossible

numbers in the blue of my eyes.

I tell him it’s the numbers

at fault for his bad days.

He’d say Shakespeare

are the fault of mine,

but he won’t admit

I have bad days.

They are a

   disease to him.

And I’m fine

  I say I’m okay

and I’m not supposed

to lie. But

He’s afraid our bad

days will align.

Eclipse each other,

everything else.

That the world will end

in the space between us.

As I lie across from him

in bed.

We’d pretend we could

stay like that.

Watch days turn over

from spring to summer

to fingerfall on a

typewriter. Stealing

seasons, and toying with

silent reasons

he finds gravity in calculus

but not in me.

It’s the manic that stays

and the love that flees

these children screaming

like trains

and careful

calculations.

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