Closing the Book

I was filing away a book of maps last night 
when the cover fell open, showing the town 
we lived in after getting married. 
I held the book gently, traced my finger 
along streets, around the bustling city 
to our second home, north of Baltimore. 
The past, buried on the page beneath 
my trembling finger, squeezed free to 
replay our two-year struggle there. 
I fled the pain, hurried back five pages 
to our third and final home, lost in a jumble 
of streets on the crowded page. 
I closed the book, the one I bought 
to find my way to the city courthouse. 

Scott Speck
12/15/98