A slim volume sits on the library
shelf, waiting
wedged in where I find it
and take it home—
The Uses of Infinity.
A young girl sits
in the almost-empty subway car
reading
absorbed in her thin book
and attracts the attention
of a handsome older man
who approaches—
So tell me, he smiles
what are the uses of infinity?
She, in high school
he, thirty-five.
She keeps on reading.
The uses of infinity—
the hypotenuse, tired
of being so straight
rebels and bends
toward the sun.
Volume invites area
out on a date.
The x-axis and y-axis
spring from the page
and dance to the Kinks.
The circumference opens
and lets you in.
The uses of infinity—
to measure the redness
of apples in a bowl
on your kitchen table.
To gauge the effervescence
of the sun and sea
on a warm spring day.
The uses of infinity—
to hold the love of my child
from diapers to manhood
to cradle, comfort, listen, advise.
A quilt of memories
where I fold my daughter’s cheek
my son chasing ducks in the park
the happy weight of a child
sitting on my lap.
The cabinet containing
years of moments
layered and savored—
the taste of pancakes
sunset on Cadillac Mountain
holding my children’s hands
and never letting go.
The uses of infinity.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 6.
Gail Tirone’s poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, Amsterdam Quarterly, NDQ, Hawaii Pacific Review, Mediterranean Poetry, The Hong Kong Review, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, The Weight of Addition Anthology (Mutabilis Press) and elsewhere. She’s a Best of the Net nominee and a finalist for the Red Mountain Poetry Prize. Gail is originally from New York and now lives in Houston. See www.gailtirone.com.
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