Mysterious terrain

I got a double bed when

I was twelve, but only

needed half of it.

I slept on the side

that was up against

the wall so I could

make mind’s eye

trips on the vintage

topographic map

of the southern

Sierra Nevada

pinned to the wall.

I would climb up

from Mineral King

past Sawtooth Peak

and Columbine Lake. Make

my way down Lost Canyon

to the crystal headwaters

of the Kern River

and fish for the legendary

native Golden trout.

The tight twistings of trails

between the sepia contour

lines and the deep blue

of lakes and rivers drew me

into the wilderness

of fantasy. Then I would cry

into my pillow and beg God

to give me a girlfriend.

I made promises, but

He didn’t reply. It doesn’t

work that way, does it?

I kept asking. Never

made it to the headwaters

of the Kern, it remains

mysterious terrain.

As for the heart,

I’ve made my own maps

with their peaks

and canyons, their

summits and plateaus.

And now, a sunlit meadow.