Mood:
quizzicalNow Playing: Bruce Springsteen & E-Street Band - Live 1975-1985
Topic: poetry
The Mapmaker
He measures distance underfoot,
feeling each rise and fall, slope and retreat.
He first knew that August day,
only eleven years old,
counting the steps in his head,
attempting to escape a life
of his father’s punishment.
He knew after a thousand steps
he’d have to return.
That she could not follow.
Years later, she lay boiling with fever,
deaf to the first bellows of the coming war.
His footsteps then were inevitable.
They carried him off,
away from the battle at home.
He kept the measurements in his mind
like page numbers of his Mother’s hymnal.
“To the river 308,
Hilltop to the valley 441.”
Long after he had scribbled his notes
on oily parchment,
he could hear her voice singing
faithfully.
One day he’d follow his footprints home,
to help rebuild the broken geography.
***
I had the word mapmaker in my mind for a few days and got inspired to include a bit of Civil War history. Today, April 12th, is actually when hostilities began in South Carolina. I worry that this poem may be more suited to prose. Please let me know what you think.
