Draw Me a Map

Give me your hand

Draw me a map

On the lines of your palm

Lead me up a great hill

to the base of your thumb

Draw me a map

To that sacred ridge

in your skin

Where a river of blood once flowed

Through the valley between

these thick fingers

But now all is dry

These broad palms

Barren, unfamiliar ground for me

Draw me a map

Or I will lose my way

On this warm, creased terrain

Once so yielding, so unspoiled, so sweet

Where once I wandered blindfolded, barefoot and steady

My footprints have been worn away

by all your clapping, praying, working, shaking

Author's Note

I wrote this during my class on British Romantic Literature this week, we were talking about prospect poetry and I was thinking about hands.
Not sure how to end it, though.

Reviews

[Zakari Schmidt]

I loved the imagery used above. I think the ending was great as is though, working your way back down to footprints is part of what made this so cool for me to read

[JC]

I think the ending is perfect, you described it his hands with beautiful imagery and metaphor, the end explains their hardship and reason...

[fireblossom]

What is prospect poetry? :-) School! They need to create bins and boxes for us.

I really liked reading this poem. I thought about a girl and her father and how time moves on and moves them. The hand as metaphor for life moving on and a youngsters longing for what was left behind. Well done.

[Miguel Chicas]

doesn't' matter the place that person takes you, as long it feels like a journey you have gone though with him.a mysterious place is always going to have a great feeling.