Today I took a walk to Fire Pond.
I brought the map, forgot the orange vest.
Into the silence I made human sounds,
coughs and heavy steps, proclaiming, Yes
I'm here, but apart, I can't be folded
into whatever this is. My steps pressed
words onto my mind: Fire...Pond...Fire...Pond...
which changed to my own name. I let the cadence
shield me. Early dark narrowed the spaces
between pines. Still I followed the map's lines
which trickled down toward that dark, labeled place,
an ink blot deep in the woods. But no sign
told what to do once there. O, it said to
no one. Oh, I echoed, embarrassed, new.
— Jessica Garratt
(from Fire Pond)
