“Nothing takes place in the world whose meaning is not that of some
maximum or minimum.” — Leonhard Euler
My best friend explains derivatives in a room where walls fold in
like graph paper. Numbers in his hands, functions propel him
forward on a finite plane. I cannot be written as a fraction
because I am not rational, assume truth until proven
false. A function has its own set of lungs and breathes
through quadrants, in and y, x and out. How can
infinity be placed into a fixed set of categories?
This contradicts our assumptions
that m and n are relatively prime.
He spins over geometric proofs,
variables in his pupils rotate
through lines and intersections,
a horizontal flip. Values can switch
place. These tiny lives will never be
more the same, more fluid than division
and remainders on paper.
About the Author
Macy French is a senior in creative writing at Tusculum College. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Connotation Press, Gravel, DASH Literary Journal, Mochila Review, Oakland Arts Review, and others.
Read this and more by Macy french in Issue 03 of the Lady Blue Literary Arts Journal.