Cartography

Photo:  The difficult journey.     David Graham

Continuing our feature on Paula Sergi today. . . .

Cartography

I want it to be night,

to fold myself in that navy wave

that overtakes us. But if it can’t be that,

I’ll take a rainy afternoon in Portland,

the drizzle barely visible

to wool-clad natives while

I look for bookstores and tea shops,

content in my new hiking shoes.

And if this isn’t Portland,

let it be Madison circa ’78,

some bearded man making bread

in his rented kitchen while I knit

my first lopsided scarf, each stitch

an expression of how much I love

learning how to fall in love.

When Madison outgrows itself

I want San Francisco,

not as tourist but to camp

with a high school friend while

I look through want ads,

anything to let me stay

single and intrigued with

my inner karma, my solar plexus.

If California passes a law

that sends me away, 

or threatens to shake till

I leave, let me buy a van

in Missoula, take a class

in glass blowing, plant

potatoes till the earth

seems dull and tasteless,

then may I wander the back roads

of Alaska for a summer,

learning how to fish and skim

stones across the bay,

renew my vows to myself

and lose my way back home

so I never have to sit

alone in a mortgaged house

while my husband watches

the news in the other room,

my sons scattered across the globe

and me sitting in this small town

where everyone can see inside

our windows, the panes afraid

they’ll shatter in the glare.

--Paula Sergi