#20 Kevin Brophy 'A map' (for Susan Hampton)

The first thing the people do
is cover the map with sand,
she said.

Three fingers pulled through the sand
might mean there's water here
only in winter.

Two fingers under this might show
that birds rest here
and you might catch one
and eat it
if you are quick and lucky.

On this map
old women from Hermannsburg
sing Christian songs in voices
more ancient than their faces.

We find our souls are in our laps
when we open the map
and lean over its expanse.

A finger like a bird of prey
casts its shadow on the open road,
lake, town.

The map never folds away
as neatly as it arrived, for its
soul, swollen a little with longing
to be known,
wants it to stay open on our laps.