Not on the map
It wasn’t here in this wood that we walked
that spring
where we wandered aimless
among the overpowering scent of bluebells
kicked up the aromas with our thoughts
startled blackbirds’ warnings
it wasn’t here
we talked of how to find a path
clasped hands
as you helped me across muddy ruts
and then didn’t let go
and we talked about whether we would or would not
could or could not find a way
all the while the purple scents
followed us through the trees
but it wasn’t here
you showed me
how moss makes velvet on tree trunks,
wild roses cascade out of hedgerows
how elderflowers scent the air
how dark it is under the tree canopy
how the sunlight shows through
it wasn’t here
This poem was first published in Picaroon #14
in January. See more here: https://picaroonpoetry.wordpress.com/2019/01/20/picaroon-poetry-issue-14-january-2019/
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