I am here.

hardly any words written by Maya Stein

why do I work so hard to locate myself,
identify my coordinates, map my body in relation
to where the earth is, scan the horizon for street signs,
crossing guards, traffic cops, familiar landmarks,
hold my compass so it is only pointing north,
take careful steps in case I have to retrace them,
light the lanterns in preparation for the confusion of darkness,
leave instructions, flight plans, itineraries in the event
I must be retrieved from the land of the lost?
why do I do this when the trip is imprecise
and the road is haphazardly moving from one state
to the next, impromptu switchbacks and deadends and
gravel-less detours? why do I try to pinpoint
anything more than where I know myself to be
when there are hardly any words better than “I am here”?

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