Blind Spots

I remember as a child once
Seeing a map
A replica of an old and ancient map.

On the edges of the map were written the words
“Here be dragons”
And I was suddenly alive.

I remember the thrill I felt that dragons were in the world
My head swam
And my body buzzed as it sang “Dragons!” over and over.

When I look at the unmapped sections of my soul
Where I have written only
“Caveat Rimor: Here Be Dragons,” I feel the same way.

And just like those ancient explorers I’m tempted to ask
If the thrill is hope and excitement
Or abject terror.

Then I roll up the map.
Such things are not for me to know.

Numbing

The news is terrible today.
Fire, flood.
Conflict everywhere.
Pictures of people hurt and dying.
And children dead.
Children
Like my children.

I’m eating popcorn while I watch the news
More for something to do with my hands than any desire for
Popcorn.
The popcorn is stale and greasy. There’s too much butter on it.
The butter coats my fingers until a layer of artificial fat
Is thick enough to protect my frail skin from the least little thing.
The downside of course is that I can’t play video games now.
I can’t do anything with my hands like this.
The fake fat on the stale popcorn feels like mittens
Like childhood memories of playing in the snow.

I fall asleep on the couch.
My hands are warm on a cold winter night
When, like a child,
My mittened hands play in the snow.

Sage Yamashita graduated from Albright College in Reading, PA with a BA that has nothing to do with poetry. He currently works a day job that has nothing to do with poetry, so of course he spends all his extra time writing it. He lives with his spouse and two children outside Baltimore, MD.

Image: anonymous author of the map, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons