ANITA ENDREZZE the geography of
love is terra infirma it is a paper
boat navigated by
mates with stars in their
eyes cartographers of
the fiery unknown it is the woman’s
sure hand at the helm of
twilight, the salt compass of her
desire the map of longing
is at the edge of two distant bodies it is the rain that
launches thirst it is the palm leaf
floating on waters far from
shore the secret passage
into the interior is in my
intemperate estuary the sweet and
languorous flowering is in the caliber
of your hands the circular motion
of our journeying is the radius of
sky and sea, deep territories we
name after
ourselves
KATE MCDEVITT you state that the
geography of love is terra infirma as if a fact as
constant as the north star a compass may
betray but the stars can never lie yet it is you who
claims the helm in search and you who would
toss the petals of the flower overboard before the mapmaker
may sketch the secret ways they must first be
found by the ship but a ship cannot
be run alone a ship comes ashore
when the docks are unready in but one way with men jumping
out to pull at the ropes secure the anchor
safe and sure once in, it sits in
wait to depart towards those lands
uncharted and waters unexplored every night the
decks are swabbed long-handled mops
spread the water around every morn the
riggings are checked to be sure that nothing came
loose the night before but when she sets
sail once more and the mates look
to the maps as much as the stars then it is not my
hands which hold the flower nor the seas which
hold the waters it is the tidal,
never-changing rhythms of my heart and that is what
the discovered bodies will be named
for
The Mapmaker’s
Daughter
The Captain’s
Son