Einstein's Red Flowers Poem by Eli Spivakovsky

"Let me consult the flowers", says Einstein to himself
He looks for Mercury's orbit in the pattern of the petals
elliptical as he had theorised, as if he could pin it to the sky
and watch it hover around the Sun in a perihelion.

"Wrong, wrong" says the daisy quietly. "Newton was wrong. You are right."
And bends its petals on a slant that eats light and curves space
"but you must stay humble, they'll turn you into a saint."
Einstein stares at the little white flower, pure as a pacifist
inside it he sees sequences, a series
1,1,2,3,5,8, going to infinity
spirals inside its seed head, a dying star, plucked for a moment, expecting nothing.
"What about me? " says the rose, "don't you admire my power? "
"be strong, be brave, bloom yourself into the man the universe has selected."

"It's just a theory" says Einstein
"Just a theory" says the daisy
"How embarrassing." says the rose. "Just a theory."

Einstein looks deeply at his feet, he's forgotten his socks again. Inside his satchel is a notebook.
He thinks of the train ride to Zurich, how he beat the clock, racing at the speed of light. Time slowing down
until it finally stopped. But now it's catching up again.

"I could teach." he murmurs
"Yes, teach, the man wants to spread some seeds. But who will plant them? " asks the rose
"Max Planck, Walther Nernst? " offers Einstein
"Brilliant men." says the daisy
"Not like you." says the rose
"Ï never buy my wife flowers. Now I want to buy you both."
"Not interested."says the rose, "I only associate with the best. I'm a premium flower."
"You could buy me, " says the daisy, "And keep things levelheaded, live a modest life, after all you don't even like to comb your hair, do you? "
"Let me look into you." says Einstein and peers into the simple safety of a life with no responsibility at all. He sees a new idea, pushing it's way through the soil towards the light,

"What of the light? "
The light bends, he watches the photon on its way, pushing through the galaxy, faster and faster Albert travels with it. The light in Albert's eyes perceiving it, and Albert caught by it, perceived by others as never moving, stationary for all time, no way out. A particle of light almost shedding itself all over him. Without illumination and alone, without any forward motion, until a solar eclipse is photographed by his colleagues, no one noticing Albert at the bottom of the photograph trapped in silence, without even a halo to himself.

"Come with me" says Einstein to the rose
"No white flag for you, Albert, can you feel the blood returning to your veins? The whoosh, whoosh of your pulse? The place between the pulse itself? "
Einstein calculates a dozen roses will be enough. He waits the next day to show his friends his choice. They look as red as energy.