Baby we drew a map to happiness,
How come we got lost in the way??

When the time comes
For my eyes to 'ever close
And for my Heavenly
Father to call me home;

I hope my lips hold onto
A faint forever smile
Of which often spread
Heartfelt "I love you"'s

I hope my hair will be
A flowing stream of silver
With flowers placed
Sweetly around my head.

I hope my wrinkles
Are like an intricate map
Of the vibrant life
I've tried my best to live.

I hope my heart is
Filled with everlasting
Memories of which
My loved ones gave me.

I hope my name
Brings joy to those
Who speak it when
Their hearts are missing me.

For that is how
My grandmother
Left us; with pure love
Wrapped around our souls.

-ARI

These punchlines unraveled on an Autumn morning.
My breath and my tension devoured the edges
of yellowed and dog-eared, trusted old pages.
This map's projections embracing me now.
Holding so tight. Pinned me down to the ground
described on the pages regurgitated.
                    Pin me tight to this town.
A flightless bird--I'm a rooster
                     bolted to your roofing;
follow each wind, but I'm never moving.
My phone woke me up on a cold Winter morning.
My uncle had died and they cancelled my flight.
It was only just me that missed out on his funeral.
And it's only just me singing "Midsummer Classic"
alone in this quiet and darkened apartment
                    "...Blue & Gold /
                    our city casts its shadow..." (Sundowner)
No albatross I, but a bird without flight all the same.

Risk everything you have for freedom
Fuel your passion with all you got
Feed your lust for everything you believe in
For there's a compass in your heart that lies within

This map shapes around streets,
cities, and boulevards
Tiny crevices, corners, and
unknown places I have yet to explore
Curves that sharpen themselves
just to mellow out

I can trace each line to find where
I am wanted

This map has ribs
has eyes
has bones
has spine

This map I explore with childish
vigor

This map has been used and torn
but beauty prints itself upon
parched paper

The eyes hold boulevards of love
The knots of spine hold cities
around the thin ligaments
The bones hold streets in every marrow
despite being worn down and rugged

This map I tell:
“I love you.”
When tragedy strikes in stale hours
of night

This map I hold
When happiness is just too far too grasp

I can read this map while others
squint eyes to see it’s perfect but faded
structure

Yet, I’ve never grown old of the minuscule
rips and faded print of her.

-DDF

I wish that I
was filled with stars
intricate, intimate arrays
to guide me to the edge
of myself and beyond

my soul
the brightest
in a unique constellation
of my naming

my love
many-hued nebula
expanding
to fill the void

my losses
supernovas
both beautiful
and tragic

But I am not
celestial
earth-bound
I must navigate

by stroke of skin
whiff of memory
trace of sadness
night vision

rudimentary compasses
in a sea of misunderstanding.

The white man was silly
He tried to buy the hill;
He thought it had gold
Like the superstition of old.
He said a Navajo chief
Had sold him a map.
So, then we told him
The map was crap.

Well, he laughed and then
He gave his knee a slap
And continued believing
He had a treasure map.
He bought some equipment,
About the price of his car,
But he hasn’t found anything
Like gold or silver so far.

Oh, hell yeah, we let him,
Once he ignored our advice.
After all we live here and
We were trying to be nice.
So, the guy from the city
Went to where it said dig
And set himself up a tent
And some kind of a rig.

He worked all day each day
And every day of the week
Knowing he was on the path
Of finding what he should seek;
That half-baked idea of his
Of getting filthy rich really quick.
And us telling him he was taken?
He wouldn’t let that idea stick.

So, we didn’t laugh later
When he came back into town
And sold his gear at half price.
We didn’t call him a big clown.
We treated him as if he were nuts
Or high on some bad marijuana.
And that’s why we call that hill
By the rude name of Belegana.