Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet in Wonderland to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
In the attic of my grandpa's house, I found a folded map,
That was blank as new-fallen snow and lay across my lap.
But as I watched, a mountain grew with a pen that no one held,
And a river curled beside it, and a forest, dark and swelled.
A tiny ship sailed out to sea, and a compass spun about,
And a dotted line of footsteps showed me where to venture out.
At the end was a golden X and a note in curly ink,
It said, the treasure is not gold, but what you'll learn to think.
So I followed the dotted footprints, through the forest and the stream,
And I climbed the drawn-in mountain, in a wonder like a dream.
At the top I found a mirror, and my own face looked out at me,
And the map rolled up and whispered, now you know who you can be.
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Commentary
A blank map that draws itself is a mystery for any curious child. This poem follows the dotted trail and finds that the treasure at the end is a mirror.
In the grandpa’s attic, the speaker finds “a folded map” that is “blank as new-fallen snow.” As the speaker watches, “a mountain grew with a pen that no one held,” with a river and “a forest, dark and swelled.” “A tiny ship sailed out to sea,” and “a dotted line of footsteps” appears.
At the end is “a golden X and a note in curly ink”: “the treasure is not gold, but what you’ll learn to think.” The speaker follows the footprints and climbs “the drawn-in mountain.” At the top is “a mirror, and my own face looked out at me,” and the map whispers, “now you know who you can be.”