Felix Purat’s most recent poem to appear here was “Statuette with a Brass Loop” (December 2016)

Amateur Cartography At the Bagel Shop

– For the Couple Running Like Home Bagels, 7eme Arrondissement, Paris
By Felix Purat

In an arrondissement, lucky number 7eme,
hides an eating hole, a secret spot in
one of many hoods beaming international vibes;
a nondescript cranny by a narrow cobbled thoroughfare
an ideal temple/chapel—however it is said—of
secular, artistic, and intellectual meditation.

In an individual’s sweaty hand rests many means
to accomplish these high, topographical feats;
in this little bagel shop I spend currency units
of time, newtons, joules and whatnot
realizing myself with amateur cartography;
how many subspecies of two-legged humans
make sense of the living through practices extinct?
geographic sketches to contemplate existences
riddled with canyons, ravines and other crags
Dakotan, Lakotan or Nakotan badlands
scribbled in graphite, skeletons of visual culture,
the featherpenned ink of broken Cheyenne treaties
compensation possible with ink from the Sino
sweeping swathes of tall, open, Arapahoan grasslands,
the beautiful Cimarron at the tips of my nail-bitten fingers
engraving bleached pulp, that innovative wonder
despite dense sequoias, the Aztec sacrifice to
Huitzilopochtli and industry’s frank immaturities
beaten intellects stuck in the cerebral gulag
whose physical bodies still bear some scars
from every playground bully they knew existed:
carved outlaw signatures upon Arizonan rock
formations long into the distant future;
their names may well be remembered like Erostratos
added to the setlist for the club of posterity,
temporarily at least.

I am like Piri Reis, a cartographer of olde,
Penning ascended hills that are mountains in spirit,
A middle class of Mount Diablos crowded in a
Danville community, observing the windmills of Altamont
Witnesses to the death knell of love
Gatekeepers of the hilly Bay Area
Looking out towards the envious elevations
Of the Sierra Nevada, ruled by the
Imperial majesty of Shasta, secretly longing
For the peacetime of Wintu society
Uninterrupted by jealous Mount Lassens
Waiting to erupt.

All of this a measure of rebellion
Defying the Global Positioning System
Plastic, ersatz and artificial;
No mapped out artistry of peaks in the psyche
Scribbled out upon hieroglyphic parchment scrolls.
But beyond my own subconscious mountain range
This inky pen laments and despairs
When seeing that geography is insufficient
Unable to ensure redemption for this
cartographically deficient planet.