By Lara Niedermeyer

—an apparent difference in the position of an object
when viewed along different lines of sight

I cannot see the end
The damp—
sweat or melting ice, I am not sure—
slips, slides, across the map
and bleeds the print,
and makes the whorls restless,
the destination

Those photographic moments,
those stock-still postcards of where
the past has gone
and where I’m following,
what sees me onward,
have been misplaced
in pain,
at leisure,
in care or less-ness,

And I am in the middle of the mess.
Somehow up to me,
somehow overflowing
like tipped ink
across the crispness
in a bad way,
and beneath it all
the sludgy stuff still sits amuck
while I run.

Atlas burned
and hunger full,
my fingers witch among the
lines and charts
the roads and elevations,
waiting for coalescence,
waiting for wet to dry so I can make it out,
that place I’m headed next,

About Lara Niedermeyer

Lara Niedermeyer writes to savor and connect. Growing up in Port Townsend, Washington, she was surrounded by art in all its forms and the wild coast of the Pacific. This foundational experience and landscape continue to shape her creative choices. Raised on the poems of Carol Lynn Pearson (whose books she snuck off her mother’s shelf and hid in her suitcase when leaving home), she revels in poetry which is both mystical and plain-spoken. Joining Segullah in 2009, she previously served as Poetry Editor and on the Poetry Board. Her poems have been published in the anthology “Seasons of Change,” Segullah, and read aloud for the “Words Fall In” podcast. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family, where she rents vintage dishes for events, and regularly teaches writing workshops.

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