Issue 3.3
Fall 2023
Katharine Rauk
Reflection
This is a poem about math. At some point, there are no answers to look up in the back of
the book.
Distance Learning
Use your own body to measure
end over end over end
something in your living space.
For example, how many hands
can cross a kitchen table?
Twenty-three times my son’s hand
equals the empty table.
This is submitted to the cloud
where his teacher may or may not be
checking to see if he’s there.
We learn Things that are
equal to the same thing
are equal to each other.
Fog over the lake is equal
to my 79-year-old father
jogging in the cemetery every morning
during the pandemic. Spring is
equal to being born again
in the poisoned air. Mama—I am
so sad my son rarely calls out for me
like this anymore. The rain
is equal to I can’t count
how many days spent
looking out the window through blinds
towards George Floyd Square.
The laws of nature are but
the mathematical thoughts of God
said Euclid. What is a law
of nature? It doesn’t add up,
my son says, how you think
it should all turn out and how
it does. How do I measure
my son growing into what
kind of a man?
Katharine's Book Recommendations
Deluge, Leila Chatti
The Lamp with Wings, M.A. Vizsolyi
Book of Hours, Kevin Young
Katharine Rauk is the author of Buried Choirs (Tinderbox Editions) and the chapbook Basil (Black Lawrence Press). She teaches at North Hennepin Community College in Minnesota.