We believed that there was a map
hidden in a drawer or buried in a dark
corner of memory but it turned out
there was no map to the drawer
and memory was closed for cleaning.
We went out looking anyway: a feeling
rises in you on certain days so you
have to look. We covered all the usual
culprits that didn’t seem so usual when
nothing turned up. Closets, bureaus,
trunks, pockets of aging sweaters,
holes in every piece of world
that had a hole in it. There was so much
stuff. But no maps. Bridget finally hit
the nail on or about the head claiming it
was technique. We fanned out. We got lost
of course and couldn’t find our way back.
What we found instead was the reason
we needed to get away in the first place.
The lesson was lost on everyone
which made it seem more important
than it was. In this way it became a kind
of map of its own and we breathed
a sigh of false relief. Then it started