Treasure Island

gordon nosworthy


Getting Lost


I packed all my stuff
stuffed it in my backpack
walked into the woods
intending to camp out until I finally understood

putting up the tent for the duration was easy
pegs and poles mostly simple questions
anyone at all could pose& they sometimes did
& sometimes didn’t

the mosquitoes made it difficult but not impossible
they appeared as if by magic drew blood
left little trails of haemoglobin& small injury
in their wake as they moved from limb to limb
but never amounted to more than irritation
I ignored them as best I could

the little blood loss here and there no problem
the fresh smell of smoke promising a fire
made the camping seem more real
more present more in the woods
left me wondering why I was always cold

that was quite some time ago
I woke this morning with the smoke blown off
the camp fire soggy never really lit
the wine gone but the food still packed
as if awaiting some auspicious moment

the bites festering draining
the ground saturated in much used arterial & fecal matter
I think it’s winter now
deep in what appears to be snow ice and wind
inhospitable climate where nothing grows except the blizzard

I tried to decipher the moon& failed
the moon told stories that were way over my head
I got lost searching for light
chased shadows& wild dogs wolves feral cats magnificent women
the thoughts of wild men

you’d think
I would have learned my lesson some time ago
when the rain turned icy& the first snow fell:
the more directions we believe
we know for sure
the more lost we have become

Submitted: Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Edited: Thursday, March 27, 2014

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Topic(s): love

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