Map Post
by Carmella Braniger
They start you off sorting.
But you quickly surpass
all their expectations
when the quality of light
becomes your criteria
for telling time and la luna
the mark by which seasons
will come and go again.
I watch you twist and turn
the linear path you travel
back on itself the dog
finally catching his tail
but with knowing reason.
When they show you
the map of the world
you look for the line
where land merges
into ocean and speculate
there must be a beach there.
Where else could the water
go without flooding the town?
You know you are in the middle.
Without saying, you play your role.
You go to your map
pinned up in the living room,
point to all the places
you’ve never been
showing us just how
far away mommy
was during her jet-setting days.
In the bathtub, you paint the sun
bright yellow and a red house.
There are flowers, and grass,
and trees, and clouds, and us.
We each hold one of your hands.
This is to remind us
we always hold hands
in the parking lot.
Another map we circle
to find a spot.
You are good at spotting.
You don’t even need a map.
Before we know it
you are mapping us.
I am always to your right
and he to your left.
Our line a swinging pendulum
and you the center of gravity
pulling us into one another,
pushing us back again.
You will not abandon your post.
We depend on you.
This post is on the map.
Dr. Carmella Braniger, a native of Ohio, is a graduate of Muskingum College, Johns
Hopkins University, and Oklahoma State University. She teaches creative writing at
Millikin University, in Decatur, Illinois. Her poems have appeared in Modern English
Tanka, Sycamore Review, Poems and Plays, The Dirty Napkin, and MARGIE: The American Journal of Poetry. Her chapbook, No One May Follow, was published in 2009 by Pudding
House Publications. She enjoys gardening, walking and cooking meals with her husband
and daughter.