I don't like the number seven
it is too skinny,
too beautiful,
too pefect.
Everyone bets on it and uses it
to chart their love lives.
It creates hope and
false sentiments... people see it
as a sign to grander happenings.
Rather give me number nine
whose imperfect lines spell
comfort and trust
(Now there is a body I can hold onto!)
It can be divided
and multiplied...
it is all the other fingers on my two hands
who are free and it is all the wonders of
the world plus you and me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem