Today's poem is by Jesse Lee Kercheval
We Traveled Far &
we were rash. the map's crease
turned out to hold deep canyons,
a long sad song of voyage.
the gazetteer, the dead end of the road.
O mothers, be consoled,
if existence were balanced on a knife point,
if our crossing were nothing but a burden,
then the map would not be folded,
then there would be no map.
Copyright © 2005 Jesse Lee Kercheval All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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