INNUMERACY
White pear blossoms blurring on the downhill stride;
cloud veins branching, bursting blue-blood lights and streaks;
marmalade fractal-smudged bites in a Sunday;
points on the mounts’ horizon, range upon range
dipping over the edge of the world;
angles drawn with straight lines on that world,
bending Euclid, because they can,
because they must – no limit to truth when the paper
crumples, crumbs of calculations dropping off like forsythia-yellow stars.
Katelyn Sack is a writer, painter, musician, nanny, medical botany researcher, and political economist residing in Charlottesville. Her recent work has appeared in the UK Guardian, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, The Science Creative Quarterly, Yankee Pot Roast, and Opium Magazine online.
