You used to be my eigenspace 
(Dedicated to the memorial of my mother, Aviva Yovel)

When you are not here,
I’m like a characteristic polynomial
whose roots are not real.
I’m like a sparse matrix
with no specific pattern,
my entries are scattered all around.
And I want to tell you
the good news of my life,
so I call your imaginary phone number
and hear no sound.

Without you I’m walking on air.
You know, mom, you were my ground,
despite your fragility.

You used to be my canonical human being,
now I can be mapped onto so many spaces.
You used to be my orthogonal basis:
Never took your direction,
always perpendicular.
And yet so close we used to be,
sticked together independently.
You used to be my eigenspace,
my place to show off my own value.

But above all,
you used to be.

Bio: Rachel Yovel is a PhD student in Ben-Gurion University, studying applied mathematics and seeking faster solutions for equations representing natural phenomena. In her poetry, mathematical language becomes metaphor, transforming concepts from analysis and computation into images of inner life and emotional space. Her work seeks resonance between rigorous thought and human vulnerability.