urbanartconcept

The Map

The Map

Stacey Levine

I once had a son with a deep gold face like a Lyonnaise flower. He went south of here. Did my son forget his mother?

I heard he had a wife. The wife got lost. What did that woman look like? Since then, I don't hear much.

I traveled east with my friend John. We saw the orchards and got a vat of sun. My uncle was hiding out there in the white blossoms, tough muckamuck, an almond thief who quickly got caught.  

We came back to town. Nothing changes. No saving graces. The room is quiet. My son realizes our time on earth is slippery as a painted line. When I knew him, he laughed most of the time.

Wears bright red shoes for luck.

Some people believe every molecule and movement of our lives was mapped long ago, and I guess I am one.

Even you, lady, with all your money—you can't steer the road as easily as you want.


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