Madhur Anand

Love Numbers

What is that rule? I before Me, except after She.
I am too obedient to tidal potential
To find the right constant for susceptibility.
Ten little houseplants, all gifts, unloved, but essential
To keep love alive. Still I desire a Boston fern
For its atmosphere. How it winterizes characters
In American short stories. Stately, taciturn,
Asexual, book-covered, undercoated with spores.
I am wilting, wanting, a fly-swatting socialite.
I arrive in time to be in sync with grammar.
I am naked in a dust jacket. I am polite,
Writing an embossed lunch invite to the biosphere.
A woman fingers hot sand: sloppy letters, feigned hearts.
Across her shoulder blades, the sun draws parallel lines.
In Central Park, her mind hunts for dimensionless arts.
A new green coinciding with old green, Scotch, Scotch pines,
A tropical pavilion, small purple flowers.
My mouth develops its very own microclimate.
My axial tilt aligns with globalized powers.
Failure to bend will be me, me, me, and Latinate.
Rotation: the complete cycle of growth and felling.
Revolution: a repeated return to dwelling.

Madhur Anand’s poetry has appeared in literary magazines across North America and in the anthology The Shape of Content: Creative Writing in Mathematics and Science. Her debut collection of poems A New Index for Predicting Catastrophes was published by McClelland & Stewart in April 2015 to international acclaim. Anand completed her Ph.D. in theoretical ecology at Western University, and is currently a professor in the School of Environmental Sciences at the University of Guelph.