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
raining.