stone pillows

i sometimes accidentally
pull out my old map of the world

it’s foreign now but not unrecognizable
the familiar landmarks are still there
i just can’t visit them anymore

the pockets of time, of places, of spaces
that are safe and round
do not want my sharp edges walking through them

i do not belong there anymore anyways
just looking at those old signposts
feels wrong
like i am trying to sneak my way
around this new life

even when my head hits the pillow
the stuffing turns to stone
and the region beyond the waking one
asks me to take another route home