The Map

deep down the dark pocket
of the coat we wore from home
lies a map meant to lead through the night
deep down amid the lint & litter
the ride token & rabbit foot
lies the map

Only here
out where the wide water
of time’s tide pulls us ever apart
the colorful lines & numbers circles & stars
faded so white along the crease
offer us no helpful answer
for the grief

We’d hoped
the map would show us
how to help us with her dying
when time came calling in her own dark night
She knew when she tucked it
in the pocket that it was
for our living


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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4 Responses to The Map

  1. every death leaves increased responsibility with the living


  2. ~meredith says:

    … deeply touching.


  3. The Poet says:

    I feel your loss. I love your style. I will follow you.


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