There’s a map on my wall
Of the places I’ve been
Of more places I still have to go
And its colors show much
Of the things I have learned
Of more things that I still need to know
There’s a shelf full of books
That hold stories I’ve loved
And some stories that fractured my heart
All their neatly squared spines
Reveal well-ordered thoughts
Conceal feelings that ripped me apart
There’s a child in her bed
Who is so much of me
Just as a much something I can’t explain
And I watch as she dreams
This small, vulnerable self
Filled with life that’s too big to contain
Deborah Dunlevy 