Five ways to slice a double cone2 minutes reading
I. Hands touch - a point is where and when it all begins. Sperm nudges ovum, blades of sycamore spiral on to loam, a universe expands into existence. Here, in our garden, rain begins to fall. II. A drop shivers the mirrored surface of the pond, sends ripples, rings. The lines of symmetry are infinite within the iris of each eye. Your pupils dilate, reflect the moon haloed with crystals, an inverse eye. III. We’ve learnt our dance: binary stars around our bary- centre, sometimes near each other, sometimes far. Dancing, the moon thins and plumps. Milk has been splashed across the sky - our sun, a pursuant cat, licks the drops. IV. From earth we are bound to earth, a symmetry of rise and fall, we dive from rocks into the sea’s embrace. A fox leaps, pounces on a cowered hare; a bowl sings to its focus, a mirror burns. V. I mould my body to your shape, the sleeping, convex curve of you, while cosmic debris lured by the sun incandesces on its path from nowhere to nowhere and space-time, warped by some unseen presence` dips and swoops.
‘Five ways to slice a double cone’ first appeared in Allegro Poetry, Issue 19 in December 2018.
Originally from Zimbabwe, Marian Christie now lives in Southeast England. When not reading or writing poetry, she looks at the stars, puzzles over the laws of physics, listens to birdsong and crochets gifts for her grandchildren.