A Personal Geography

There is a place above the navel

and below the breastbone where

There is an old woman looking out a window.

There is a newborn child

held by its mother.

There is a mother holding

her child that will never be born.

There is a woman wading in a stream;

there is a puddle up to her knees.

There is an urge to throw things out.

An empty cage

A singing crow

There is what I believe myself to be

And there is all that I do not yet know.