Tom Petsinis

She could've been our grandmother
Warning us of poisonous mushrooms -
To stress her point she'd scratch
The taboo bold with crimson chalk.
It should never be used to divide,
Or we' d be howled from lined yard
To pit where cruel paradoxes ruled.
Her warnings tempted us even more:
Young, growing in confidence,
We'd prove the impossible for fun -
Nothing she said could prevent us
From showing two was equal to one.
...

Renounce mathematics. I vowed again
To set my faith on paradox, not proof -
Yet spirit could not numb a wisdom tooth
Tormenting me with exponential pain:
I relented, soothed by a circle's roll.
Released from my crucifixion to bone
I embraced the horizon, heaven's dome,
The cycloid of an inviolate soul.
For weeks I flew, forgetful of my sin,
Pursuing figures with ideal curves
To wonderful ends, strengthening my nerves
For the penitential line back to Him.
Renounce mathematics! I found the truth,
Exploring with my tongue the rotting root.
...

Thirteen, a world away from primary school,
I struggled with the notion of a point:
An entity without body or breadth
That fled sharp pencils tested on my tongue,
And proved more elusive than an electron
Whose cloud covered blackboards with unknowing.

Shadows patched the fading weeks of that summer.
The pinoak's leaves fell for the hundredth time.
The dark seed had been sown. Shuffling the park,
I questioned, doubted, picked the last scab
From my knee as if it were a crumb of happiness.

Faith was growing, raising hopes by degrees:
That Holy Ghost of geometry prefigured the soul,
Defined the shortest line between God and me.
...