old maps and unfamiliar places

i sometimes
pull out my old map of the world

it’s foreign now, but recognizable
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 anymore
and i am not welcome

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

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

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