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Jan 2012
As a child, I used to cut
apart maps of America,
separate the states and
put them back together
in strange geographies:
Kansas against Maine,
fling the Dakotas as far
away from each other
as they could go, press
New Mexico against the
breast of South Carolina.
I tucked tiny Rhode Island
into the palm of Michigan,
gave Nebraska a seaside.

I realize now the folly
in these stately migrations:
I never thought I’d wish
I could drive across the
border of Alabama into
Oregon’s deep woods.
This poem and many more can be found on the author's website, This poem was published in Ventricle, Atrium, the author's second poetry collection.
Gabriel Gadfly
Written by
Gabriel Gadfly
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