Get Lost
David Ehmcke

Where I’m going, when I get there, I’ll say that failed love sent me.

I traveled without a compass carrying an arrow in my eye. As with all

my endeavors inward, I needed a sea that I could gaze upon, dark, tortured

waters to give form to the ways I thought. Beach trees peeked out of the sand

at hazardous angles. Uncertain weather gave texture to my days. Now at last

I’ve resurrected the isle of abandonment. On half my face I wear the hero,

half the girl he loves and later leaves. Tracing figures in the night sky, it was

like peering into the trepanned skull of some forgotten king. Found beauty

through deposition. Then there was my mother’s voice: Choice is a weapon.

Use it wisely, like a disguise. And my father’s: Just say you’re sorry. I don’t care

if it’s a lie. Shipwreck. Bad men. Some things just happen. All along

the coast, the shore rehearses a boundary, asserts itself, changes its mind.