Thursday, September 17, 2009

Map Poem by Robin

I was driving head first
Splashing in Villa Rica
When you caught me in your arms
Traveling up through Vester and Point Peter
Through the Appalachians to my Walnut Grove
You traveled along the 83
And landed somewhere between Roswell and Forest Park
You set up camp in Youth
Lingering on route 85
Sliding softly through the russet folds of Bethlehem
You clung tightly to Atlanta
The Only star in the sky
Your fingertips screaming as you dug through Washington
Yoking together two halves of one rocky mountain
You would spend the winter months
Swimming along the tips of Lincoln
Blue blue as the soft Braswell falls.
Your eyes still stinging
Drops of saltwater
A river, an ocean
The last traces of Madres

Come with me, sir, and we can camp
Hide along the coast
Find our palms in Atlanta
With summer’s sweet Zinnia’s behind Billarn

-Robin S.

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