I have seven
but you ask me
for twelve and I can’t imagine
how we can see the same
loaves of bread but
tally them
so differently.
“This is seven,” I say,
and you smile, “This is twelve.”
“Seven isn’t enough,”
I protest, “I need eight just to get by myself;
how can you ask me for twelve?”
But again you say, “Twelve.”
I want to retort, “There’s no compromising
in math,” but I’m learning to
keep my mouth shut
when you suggest
what seems impossible.
“I can’t see it,” I confess, “but
make it so if twelve
are needed.”

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