Unfolded

The map of Michigan tucked in the glove compartment
of my parent’s Pontiac Grand Ville
revealed locales far off and foreign.

Fingers traced future routes along the web of roads.
So many unfolded dreams to discover,
places you could go one day if you had the desire.

Places that sounded exotic, like Kalamazoo.
Or Detroit, where legends Kaline and Kell hung out.
Or Traverse City. It was right in the name. A city for travelers.

An unfolded map dared you to jump in your car
and go someplace new, told you how far
these mystical places were from wherever you were.

Unless where you were didn’t merit mention.
Just a small dot in a sea of dots.

Maps never took you to the middle of no where
and declared that was your destination.
My GPS did. It was wrong.

We’ve become sheep to electronic voices
herding car after car down the highway.

No longer romantic adventurers,
sleuthing our way from here to there.

Magic gathers in the creases,
waits to be released in the unfolding.

Wings that transcend trodden earth,
lawn chairs that invite a pause,
newspapers that reveal the world,
although they are as endangered as maps.

We too are going the way of maps and newspapers.
If only we could find our way back from the ether
and learn to unfold ourselves,
what dreams might we live?

©2026 Kenneth W. Arthur