0+1, 1+1, 1+2, ad infinitum.
5 is where my understanding fades. Ah, Fibonacci,
I wear sequins when I try to make sense
of your sequences; nautilus shells and horny rabbits.
Mona Lisa and the recipe for Mr. Coffee—
1-2 tablespoons of Bustelo for every 6 ounces of water
are based on your formulae. When I eat spanakopita at the Nautilus
Diner, I devour your golden triangle.
You would think my favorite number would be 55,
but it is 69, the number my sister and I shouted
at the dinner table even before we knew what it meant.
I don’t think our parents ever got it
or did it, I never did it, maybe half of it
nothing reciprocal.
My sister’s favorite number is zero
most of her friends are mathematicians
she asks the hard questions of zero:
Why is anything to the zero power, 1?
Why is zero over zero undefined?
I love your numbers, come on
Fibby walk along the beach with me
roll up your cuffs, gift me with shells,
count my hard ridges. You make my heart do algorithms
I grab your ass, a divine proportion.
About Vicki Iorio
