Five ways to slice a double cone

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 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.

About Marian

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.


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