m e r c a t o r   p r o j e c t i o n

:   m o n i c a   p a c e

When she awoke
And moved from one side of the door to another
She became a telescopic lens. Latitude and its leanings.

The air was flammable with it. She saw a couple
But they branched into two solitudes
Retracting middle age. Hooded eyes
By the hooded wall. Nylon coats,
Maps slithering from their hands
& they spoke only into the splaying papers

& maybe not even of the same city
of veins bubbling from the page into the rain.
It wasn't so much an argument
As an agreement to argue. A resolute starch.

And it happened per week
Some would stop her in the street.
Paths off with a foot. Maybe because always an arrow
Alone she stepped brisk.
Couples squinting for directions
Would compass her for it. She'd slip into cartoon
And snake a finger [that-a-way] remote.

And whenever she dreamed
It was always in mercator passion. Her personal meteorite.
A giant globed with weather she would glance a palm to it.
And shiver on that northern shelf..

[]