Wondering quietly how far I should go
and how many signposts are there on the way,
I feel for the map of my heart and I know
its more crumpled edges are tearing, and so
I tuck it inside and greet a new day,
(still) wondering quietly how far I should go.
Looking to others and dreaming they know
how ‘no’ works, and ‘please’, and – permitted to play -
I feel for the map of my heart and I know
that after first pain, it will lessen the blow
if I smile and invite it, and try not to say
“I am wondering quietly how far I could go.”
When he takes me in hand and treats me so slow
and I ache on command, yet I do not delay
to feel for the map of my heart and I know
that each torn-off piece is a new place to grow
that each torn-off piece lets in light of the day.
Wondering quietly how far I should go
I feel for the map of my heart and I know.