It is now September,
the ninth month of the calendar year
and I am sad.
For the last 31 days I have feasted
on the feel of forming ‘8’ as I write
the day’s date on each notebook page.
I relish the ease of figure 8 ‘o’s, my pen gliding
across paper in curved circles like skaters on ice,
the infinitesimal point of contact in the center
where it looks like solid circles touch
but feels like loops intersect and move on.
I respect the vertical ‘o’s as they stand stacked
one atop the other, defying gravity, balanced
as a snowman’s spherical corporality of snow.
The number ‘9’ does not have the fullness of ‘8’.
‘9’ feels half done, top heavy, and incomplete,
a flag stopped rigid by an arrested breeze.
On September 8, 18, and 28
I will revive my skill at forming ‘8’s and
three times a month for the next 12 months
I will kinesthetically enjoy making ‘8’s again.
But for thirty days I will be fashioning ‘9’s,
page after page, ‘9’, ‘9’, ‘9’
On next month’s first day
I will begin making ‘10’.
written on [9-1-1-9]