Stuck at home struck by the cold, empty
arrogance of numbers, with special dislike
for number 4, as I shelter separately in place
from my sweet granddaughter, 4 months
since last together, 4 months since last we’ve
touched, laughed and played, and you’ve just
turned 4—the 4 miles between us may as well
be 4,000 light years away, each of us our own
star-flung galaxy with dark vacuum void
surround, or perhaps more like two planets in
fixed, nearby orbit destined to remain apart—
Numbers 4 and 4000, though clear-sighted
measures, can never see, never sense,
that which is true
No numbers know that one
pre-pandemic playday was fuller,
sweeter, more timeless when
spent in closeness with you
And just as fixed orbits can hail from a
distance, yet know they’ll never touch,
a map made by human hand can never
be true to the territory of so much
Because here in the land of love
where we live, my star child,
there’s no grid to map how
distance feels when we’re apart
And no calipers to measure
the unbounded love
and limitless longing
of the human heart
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Larry C. Tolbert is a writer and poet with master’s degrees from the University of Illinois and San Francisco State University. Raised by grandparents on a Southern Illinois farm, he has lived in Northern California his entire adult life. He has been a factory worker, English language trainer in the U.S. and abroad, Silicon Valley marketing communications director, and senior government education developer. Writing and love of language have been constants throughout his professional life.