Since 1996 Volume XXI
ELEGY FOR A MATH GENIUS
The onion field held us flat on our backs,
hands interlocked, spring night of dim stars.
Then the seven-thousand dollar houses sprang up out of nowhere.
A memory of your “love my ring a ding/ ding dong wang,”
wacky, kinky and written a hundred times in leaking ink
on a blue-lined page you folded and mailed with a three-cent stamp.
You were a polymath, highest Math IQ in NY State.
I, an innumerate working for the phone co. Your numbah puhleez.
We loved the sky and doubted heaven.
You sent me papers on the subject of trajectories, binomials,
Fibonacci sequences, and married a composer from upstate.
Piano notes hung in the air when your cells went awry
and carted you away into the silence of minus signs.
So soon. The just-moved-into house stunned, your children
waiting for your numbers to leap out of nowhere.
Our shared weltanschuung, your word, remembered.
These houses now a town.
Onions tossed in a bin sold for a penny each.
I could do the math. You liked them crunchy on buttered bread.