Love Poem to the Number Seven
It’s always been lucky for me:
seventh heaven, seven on the die,
seven seas, seven days in a week.
Well lucky for someone, that is.
And I’ve been looking for a situation
where life is pure calculation.
Twice something really is twice as good.
Three’s a crowd
when only a crowd will do.
I’m alone, as always.
but what begins as a 1
soon bends its back,
elongates into a number
the Christian sacraments
would recognize,
likewise the sorrows
and the Catholic feasts.
I could live forever counting dwarfs.
priests and trumpets
at Jericho’s walls.
moon cycles.
angels, plagues and thunders.
I’d even give those sins
a run for their evil money.
My seven is a prime number.
isolated and virgin.
It’s the day of my withdrawal from the world.
Alone with my seven,
it’s comforting to know that, at least one of us.
vibrates to the inner rhythms of the universe.
And it’s on a page.
I’m the only one who’s trembling here.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, “Leaves On Pages” is available through Amazon.
