Only One

I used to think one was magic,

all that remained when you divided

anything by itself. One turned

the tips and pads of fingers

into adding machines, helped

kindergarten hands solve the world’s

biggest problem: the number

of apples if Sally gave me three

when I already had five.

I’ll tell you this: I reveled in oneness

when it meant first and best,

something rare like moon rocks

or a ’49 Jackie Robinson baseball

card. But that was before I walked

into boardrooms and ballrooms

and failed to count any higher.

~Pamela Taylor © 2013