Lost Maps

…as a child,
the sun on my cheeks,
warm grass under bare feet,
running up green, undulating hills,
rolling down their far sides.
Our laughter.
Blue sky,
wheeling birds,
puffs of clouds, cotton wisps,
kite scudding below.
Thinking “This. This, then, is happy.”
A place I would access, had accessed,
over and over… limitless, and forever.

And I wonder, now,
sitting in this doctor’s waiting room,
inoffensive yellow walls,
the ticking clock, and
the Norman Rockwell print
that could as well be a Cathy cartoon
or a kitten poster,
my body suddenly betraying me,
not running nor rolling, just this rising darkness,
these tests I don’t tell anyone about…
when, exactly,
did I lose the map
to those green hills,
to that place of sunshine and forever,

that sky,
that laughter,
that echoes, and mocks me,
and slips away.

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Poem, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Lost Maps

  1. Jeff Newman says:

    A bit dark in tone. Was the cat poster the one that says: “Hang in there!”? Was the “Yellow Walls” line a reference to Charlotte Perkins Gilman?

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