Mathematical Improbabilities




Eyes, fingertips, tongues

form one from two.

Yield three.




Snowflake fingerprints,

tiny palms creased with foreknowledge,

DNA whirling proteins

into the plot of a new story.


Despite vast mathematical improbabilities

here you are.

Your mother’s hundred thousand eggs

your father’s five trillion sperm,

a one-in-five-hundred-million-million-million

chance of your existence.


Our gladness is incalculable.


Laura Grace Weldon


Find more poetry in my collection, Tending. 

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