April 23: "Google Maps," Find Their Ways, "A Poets Circle"

Billy Collins finds his way . . . 

Google Maps

by:  Billy Collins

My parents' grave

is 1198 miles north of here.

17 hours and 23 minutes

from now,

I'll make believe I'm there.

Everyone, every day is just trying to find their ways.  I do.  You do, too.  Admit it.  I'm not talking about a physical way.  I'm talking about friends and family and joy and love and all the things that give meaning to life.

Collins has buried his mother and father, who are, for most people, the first Google maps, telling us what to do, keeping us safe.  I still hear my mother's voice in my head sometimes, telling me to make the bed, wash the dirty pans in the sink.  And my dad still reminds me now and again to mow my lawn or shovel snow off my roof.

Tonight at the library, a group of poets from the Yooper Poetry anthology read their work as part of the Great Lakes Poetry Festival, and it took my breath away.  I think poetry can be a map, too, giving directions on how to view the universe.  Poetry helps me make sense of seemingly senseless situations sometimes.  It grounds me.  Reminds me who I am and where I am.

Saint Marty might be lost, but, with poetry, he can find his way home.

A Poets Circle

by:  Martin Achatz

Why not a square?

Or a rhombus?

I'm partial to equilateral

triangles, no side larger

or smaller than the other.

Yet, there's something comforting

about gatherings without

beginning or ending,

like a cup of coffee

that the waitress constantly

refills.