Herself in Numbers

Poetry

I’m learning to count behind the numbers

where Quantity keeps an inventory of all the ages you’ve been. 

You’ve been three, four, eighteen and twelve.

Thirty four, nineteen, seven. 

You’ve been behind the numbers without knowing it.

Like a slow reader trying to keep up with his classmates.

You are here.

They are there.

And this…

is where the numbers start to love you, lean into you, grow curious about you

this is where the numbers stare at you just like you’ve stared at them trying to calculate all they can do

I promise, Quantity does not want you divided away from her

You are not multipliable. 

You do not need to be added with something else to have value

You are value.

And Quantity only wants to take away the moments where you do not feel her 

Quantity only wants you to feel her.

Behind the numbers, behind the months, behind the letters

there is an inventory of growth that looks just like you.

It remembers the first time you heard an echo

The first time a laugh made you snort or cry

It remembers your first reflection

and it will remember your last.

 

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