Then It Came To Me Poem by Jennifer Juneau

Even the sun was uncomfortable
the last time we picknicked by the lake,
stale wine and an aging cake
between us. I never realized what stable

meant until I saw a band of nuns
subtracting color from the day.
They had their math straight.
Sometimes I wish I had been one,

secure with something constant.
Often I'd miscalculate
the variables, promises you seemed to make
before saying, 'This isn't what I meant.'

My mistake. Trying to solve problems too thick
for formulas. A permanent failure at artithmetic.

(Yemassee Journal, Vol. XV, No.1, Fall 2007)