Quadratic Love Song

By Angela T. Carr,


So many things will sit inside a square –

a book, a bell, a tooth, a cup, a bone –

but who would look and think to find them there?

Who’d ink their shape in light when there was none?

I think about the square that is a house,

a room, where footsteps creak the wooden boards –

the one that’s empty of the two of us –

I’d name the sound if I could find a word.

Though you were never one to fit a tongue

or root equations as are graphed by hand –

you’d lay your shadow as your sun demands

and slip through pauses tighter than a drum.

My arms have learned to love the weight of air,

to circle what can’t linger in a square.


This poem was originally published in The Lonely Crowd Issue 10 (2018).