Preparing to Leave
I’ll need a name and a map
before I can go.
The rest I can invent.
The name should be as natural
as an old scar, the map too—
at first, topographical, but later
political, historical if I get lost,
and it should fold to fit unnoticed
inside any story I might tell.
And when I board an airplane
or bus, or a van pulls over
for my outstretched thumb,
I’ll need to forget
the faces of where I’ve been,
forget how long I’ve been gone.
