USA

Rovokat@Hotmail.com

Map of My Father

Yours was always my favorite country
With vast inland seas and unusual fish
Where roads would lead never certain
Sweeping fields of lavender, autumn touched trees,
Frozen tundra looming, barren, snow covered weeds.

Still yours was my favorite nation
So familiar were the natives
Though I never did master the language
And often said; I love you, potato
Meaning father, to the untrained ear
They sounded the same.

A refugee I stand now
The great empire turned to sand
With pockets full of forest ash, mountain dust
My prints erased in the storm
And my precious map, a surveyor's lifetime
Bleached white by the march of days.

© All Copyright, 12/10/01, Kateri Rowe-Volpe.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.