Roadmap
Poem by Catherine McGuire
Roadmap
Poem by Catherine McGuire
From the Archive of Saint Augustine's Magazine
Volume 2, No. 1 (2023).
Pathless, at the beginning–
a wandering, turf and rock,
getting to know landscape.
Recall: the faint meander
of crushed grass, a sense of others ahead.
Follow the hint, don’t fear the bones along the verge.
Roads are palimpsests – so many journeys
interlaced; each destination a bird flying ahead.
No one chooses where they start, but choose now
the route, choose your pace – eager, fast,
sure of the castle beyond the mountains.
The scant nourishment bewilders, worries,
but can’t slow you at first.
Remember the woods? The golden birds
like autumn leaves, the tang of daffodils
along the edge, the deep moss wisdom hidden
in shadows. Take a narrow path. The wide
road never drew you. Follow where
foxglove lurks and streams nose the shallows.
It was decades ago, and is still today –
Time is air and breath;
heartbeat the road.
Avoid the marshes, though you never can,
and others will release you
eventually. Stay where white pebbles can be found.
In your pocket, your desires wait, seeds or stones –
it’s hard to say. Listen to the wind.
There are maps in dreams, though they wisp away
like fog, like breath. Don’t regret solitude,
but share your path when you can –
leave a white pebble
at every parting.
Poem published in The Fool's World precursor
Saint Augustine's Magazine Vol. 2, No. 1 (2023).