An 1836 map of the town the author’s husband is from, where he is currently tending to his ill, 96-year-old mother. Courtesy of the New York Public Library.
Think remember map our
every you every us every night every darkness
lay fear down
lay in sadness
carry this acre
taken from a map
you’ve your heart
and I am the open head
I am half every walking woman
every man from Michigan
At sea light is now breaking
And what is this scrap
of hour that can crack
my unfolding?