Uncharted by John Spiegel
A compass is a rose is a flower.
Bees are dying, but so are people.
The more I live, the less I know
what that means. Go in a direction
and see where the map takes us.
Step off the world onto Atlas’ shoulders,
feel the fibers under the skin. Think of wood grains,
an axe splitting logs, of father’s red shed
where he seasoned oak,
of his old boat that never sailed on water.
John Spiegel is a poet and teacher. He received his MFA from Miami University and he lives in Fairborn, Ohio with his wife and two daughters. He enjoys playing music, cooking, and driving his car barefoot. His poetry, nonfiction, and reviews can be read in Fence Digital, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Garbanzo, Milk & Cake Press, and others.