Excerpt from "I Never Thought It All to be Calculable" by Gillian Sze

 

I gaze at the stream ribboning the curb,

confess to the dark stained thaw,

 

to the sun dribbling from the eaves,

that I am imperfect.

 

It’s just my breath amid the trembling twigs

and the brown grass

 

raw from winter. What is this world?

when just yesterday, I was unaware

 

that researchers fed a computer

all the data they could

 

from our cells, with no explanation

as to what each value means, no hint

 

as to what draws concern, no leads

on how to classify cells

 

or even what all these cells do, each in their own

distinguishable way. Then today

 

I learn that a computer    on its own    deciphered

what it means to be alive.

 

Where does breath

stop, when even the air now

 

is sharp, strengthened despite

the dead months. 

 

A biologist will tell you that when your oxygen drops

you release a hormone called the Norn cell.

 

Over a century for humans to discover these tiny

goddesses of fate residing in our kidneys.

 

Meanwhile a computer somewhere

teaches itself bios in six weeks,

 

measures rich breath despite not having lungs

or the Norns to invoke.

 

But look at the unpacked globe.

From here I can picture the rash spring

 

and the dry shores awash with fish

like scattered slippers at the door.

 

Look up and see the geese suddenly

veeing home from the south.

 

Who can count all of those stilled eyes

fastened to the sky

 

who can count each fish that, upon

glimpsing those pumping wings, thinks

 

 

 

— Gillian Sze is the author of multiple poetry books and picture books. Her latest poetry collection, Quiet Night Think, received the Pat Lowther Memorial Award. She teaches English literature and creative writing at Concordia University in Montreal. www.gilliansze.com.

 

 

You can read this poem and many more in Issue 302 Winter 2024. Order the issue now:

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