Jean L Kreiling : Map-Reading

By leaning in and squinting, I can read
this faded map—but still, I can’t explain
how I arrived here. Was it reckless speed
that brought me to this alien terrain?
Which highway line might offer up a clue
to where I am and what my route has been—
this short one slicing past a spot of blue,
or this one, forking, very long and thin?
In this unsparing light, discoloration
competes with blots and shadows—miles of them.
Oh, why did I attempt this exploration
through half-closed eyes at six-fifteen a.m.?
The bathroom mirror measures with precision
the toll that decades take on flesh and vision.