Here's my go at a math-inspired poem, then. And I know the math sort of vacated at some point. Ah well.
White Couches and Fountain Pens
In my sister's living room, I sit in a chair draped with swatches.
Real work being done here, adding beauty and perfection
to a room that is already more polished and impressive
than anything in my home.
Is more better? Is less a detriment? Voluntary simplicity.
But her style is simple. It is lovely, just right.
She spends hours planning her simplicity. She is spreadsheets.
Her joy, a set of numbers, lined up perfectly on the right.
Lazier, I spend no time. I plop a plant, move a couch, throw a pillow.
My style, I know, is cluttered. Like notes scribbled in the margins of a page.
I do love full pages, though. The more scribbles, the better.
Warmth in those words. And new words, mistakes crossed out but left visible,
these fill me with joy. Options left open. As if I might
get it right.