if you trace a finger around it
you find that it’s exactly like you heard
the shape of a fish
the smells of caves, the moon
gives off a different kind of light
you don’t see that on the map
it isn’t indexed
and though you know its secrets
you don’t remember how you know
yellow stone recognised
jazz on the stairs
I didn’t show you my poems then
at 3am
now you open atlases and write
about the shape of countries
everything has become familiar to you
an open palm
you’re not sure if you’ve seen
my face, the freckles on my arm
you trace them like a map too
counting the days until you leave
a familiar map was first published by The Writer’s Cafe on issue 16 ‘Landscape and Maps’
