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Memory isn’t linear. It doesn’t flow smoothly from one moment to the next like words in a textbook. Instead, it comes in fragments—bright shards of recollection mixed with shadows of uncertainty, questions that may never find their answers. Poetry understands this. Where prose might struggle to capture memory’s strange movements, poetry sometimes reflects the way
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Mathematics and poetry might seem like unlikely partners, but they share a fundamental truth: both seek patterns in chaos. Sometimes, when emotions become too vast to hold, we reach for numbers—not just to count, but to contain. In my poem “Mathematical Soup,” this intersection of mathematics and meaning becomes a way to process family violence:
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“How do you write?” Here is how I pull together verses: I wander in a fog, stumble over words, clutch them like lifelines—as if they might somehow save me; the fog congeals, swallows me whole and I tumble, engulfed in a seductive sea of delusion—lost, swimming desperately for shore until at last I break through
cynthia loves poetry 