Map-Lines
©August 8th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Lie on that map
Mark that spot right there,
See that city?
Trace a line to it,
Dig canyons into being,
Spring trees into greenness,
Rouse the grass and the brush,
Build roads, along the way.
Now, watch a tiny, tiny car
Move under your finger
Along that line.
Lie on that map,
Chin on folded arms,
Let your eyes rest on names
Beautiful and strange,
Names impossible to speak,
Easy to say aloud,
Names of places, rivers,
Lakes, mountains, states,
Cities, plateaus, valleys.
Let a song meander riverine,
Rushing headlong through
Your folded mind, as you whisper,
Phoenix, Albuquerque, Oklahoma,
Wichita, Galveston, Oh, Galveston!
And then you see it:
The lineman sits atop a pole
The distant night approaches
Hesitant, eager, waiting
To swallow that loneliness,
While your map expands like
A vast voice, repeating names
Of places you’ll never see.
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