Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Tuesday, September 1, 2009: ffffound, quoted from: but does it float

The Map

Over time, the map’s creases weaken.

The paper’s feeble bonds have been tested

Each time I unfolded it,

Studied the markings along its wingspan,

And collapsed it between your hands.

The creases have worn away whatever

Was printed beneath—

The boundary of a park,

The delicate, tangled grid of streets into freeways,

A river.

The map is disintegrating,

A localized continental drift.

The names of streets aren’t even right

In some areas,

So new is this landscape

Compared to its facsimile.


  1. Yes, Hannah, I see your map. Your poems are word-pictures indeed. Your map still speaks volumes, even as my Garmin speaks just two words: "turn right."

  2. Was it Whitman who wrote the poem comparing a spider and a human's soul? This poem has some of that hushed importance about its central image.


The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.