Numbers
by Mary Cornish
I like the generosity of numbers.
The way, for example,
they are willing to count
anything or anyone:
two pickles, one door to the room,
eight dancers dressed as swans.
I like the domesticity of addition—
add two cups of milk
and stir.
The sense of plenty: six plums
on the ground, three more
falling from the tree.
And multiplication’s school
of fish times fish,
whose silver bodies breed
beneath the shadow
of a boat.
Even subtraction is never loss,
just addition somewhere else:
five apples
become two when you
give three away.
The idea that the world can be
measured and known by numbers
makes me feel secure.
I like the look of long division
it says something
wise, a column of numbers
threading down the page.
and the answer
reaching up
like a hand to meet you.