There are several places on this earth I’ve never been.
Several? Hell! Let me be honest. Thousands. Thousands.
Many thousands of places on the earth I’ve never been.
Most.
And where I am right now is one of them.
Obviously, I am where I am, but barely.
Not much to make this spot worthy of attention,
The same for the corner behind the couch,
I’ve seen it, but I’ve hardly been there.
The fraction of space between the stove and
kitchen counter, that dark unsightly wedge
full of gravity’s crumbs, I pass by every day
but I’ve never been observant there.
Let alone Madagascar. Let alone Paraguay.
And the land down under the bathroom sink behind the pipes
is as foreign to me as Tasmania, although my language,
English, is spoken the same both here and there.
The 2 and ¾ inches between my study window
and the window blind, where the values of transparency
challenge the benefits of opacity. I’ve never been there.
Under my desk there is a country my two knees know,
my feet know the climate, my ankles know the weather.
My eyes have never tasted the native visual cuisine
of dropped paper clips, envelopes, or postage stamps.
My ears have no sound evidence of their mother tongue.
How would my world view change
if I relaxed on the bedroom carpet for five minutes
engrossed by the dusty spirals of sagging bed springs
or the detailed map formed by ceiling plaster cracks.
Imagine if I was watchful on the bed itself,
another place I’ve never wholly been,
to learn what happens in the dark of night
when my mind pretends to be asleep.