by: Sarah Stringer
I’ve never liked bell curves.
The beauty of a scatterplot:
sprinkled dots in art without design,
is forced into a pattern
of normally distributed slopes.
We devote entire disciplines
to watching people struggle up the mountain
to its peak, the
epitome of human existence.
You’ll find my dot
a little to the left of the graph,
somewhere off the charts.
I imagine a grad student
tearing out her hair,
scribbling “OUTLIER” across my page in
giant red letters,
and tossing me to the
darkness at the back of some drawer.
Alternatively, she’ll gather her tricks to
manipulate me as I dig in stubborn heels.
Bit by bit, she’ll drag and drop me
to the mountain’s base, where
I’ll find gorgeous green forests and
paths stretching upward.
I should prefer this to
choking on dust in a drawer,
and it will save a grad student’s hair.
But like I said,
I’ve never like bell curves.