The irony of the poem is that this is the last day of May and as my brain was trying to understand things I just can understand, like child abuse, a little girl dying, or the way we tell ourselves things that aren't true I just sort of checked out, like a hopeless math student. An emotional dislexic.
Maybe in May
I'll understand.
The easy math of
addition and subtraction
Elude my left brained heart.
So now in this
forever April
I stare at sums
Boggled by their
Lack of compassion.
The mess of odd numbers, remainders
And minute fractions
Seem ruthless.
Maybe in May
It will all add up.
Maybe then these
Negative and positive
Conclusions will
Equal up to understanding
But it doesn't today.
Maybe in May...
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