Maps, Travels, Contours Poem by michael pacholski

The heart simply does
and “does” is the best word
for what cannot be explained or plotted
in a story or a graph
cannot be predicted and is perhaps ill-advised
like when a lover walks back
into their lovers room
after toiling long at sea
in a fog
in a storm
on a highway it had no business walking
and flops on the sweaty unwashed sheets
of the double bed in the three-room loft
while the other heart
the heart that has remained
to keep the room ready for this return
picks up all this new-old laundry
and continues sewing and stitching
as it has done and always done
and when finished
without so much as a glance
gets up
walks out saying
“grocery shopping, that’s all. Back in a bit.”
before going to walk alone out along the strand
and cry out by the docks
walking in a fog
in a storm
on a highway
only to return in its own way