My
black pond is surrounded
by
mountains. Snippets of memories
rise to the
surface, and
float entangled in dark green water.
I catch them like fish, livid mouth
open, slippery gills glisten,
the sun a pale radiance
not enough for
warmth. At sundown, the waterlilies
fold their petals over hidden
treasures. A giant eye stirs beneath
the oars, eyelid
closed shut. Tear after tear, it fills
the pond sadness.
I like
the pink
waterlilies’
delicate corals,
and the yellow ones, a golden
glow borrowed from the moon.
Note: The poem’s syllable count per line follows the decimal expansion of the golden ratio to 24 decimal places.
This poem first appeared in Proceedings of Bridges Richmond (2024).
—
Sarah Glaz’s poetry collection, Ode to Numbers (Antrim House, 2017), was a Next Generation Indie Book Awards finalist. Her poems appeared in The Hudson Review, The Mathematical Intelligencer, Journal of Humanistic Mathematics, Talking Writing and other venues. Sarah is Emerita Professor of Mathematics at the University of Connecticut, and serves as associate editor for the Journal of Mathematics and the Arts, and as poetry coordinator for Bridges. For more information see Sarah’s website: http://www.math.uconn.edu/~glaz
