Poem by Faith Breisblatt

The Map

When I played with your nipple ring
I would flake the metal back and forth between my fingers

as if translating the foreignness in the dark. Nearby,
a mouth upturned, parted earth, would exist.

If I pretended hard enough, that mattress
where we forgave the hours was a bed

of browning pine needles.
This was how your body felt, soft

and easy. Tucked in your adjacent, I would count the rings,
rake your coasts for stillness. I listened

to your humanness like a sort of mythology,
categorized the peaks in terms of wanting, deserving, meaning.

There were always mountains and I wanted to climb them.
There was always some other impediment.

Whatever happens, it was years and then we arrived.
Whatever happens, I have loved you like a continent, drifting.

Faith Breisblatt is a licensed social worker living in Boston. Her work can be seen in Found Poetry Review, Scripting Change, Toe Good Poetry, and elsewhere.

Glenn Bowie is a published poet, lyricist and photographer from the Boston area. He also owns and operates an elevator company that supplies custom-built elevators for clients from New England to Hollywood. Author of two poetry and photograph collections (Under the Weight of Whispers and Into the Thorns and Honey) on Big Table Publishing, he donates all profits from his books to various charities for the homeless and local animal shelters. Glenn is also the official photographer for the Newton Writing and Publishing Center.