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  • When I was a little girl
    summers were filled
    with long road trips
    in the wood paneled station wagon.

    In the front seat
    nestled between my father and mother
    little feet propped on the dashboard
    I watched the world go by
    at 55 miles per hour.

    Cheap roadside motels
    with pretty blue pools.
    A cooler filled with
    bologna and cheese sandwiches.
    Wonder Bread nation.

    My parents loved maps.
    An unfolded accordion of lines and squiggles
    spread out wide across my mother's lap.
    I was in awe of how
    a person could arrive anywhere
    with the proper navigator and co-pilot.
    All the secrets of the world
    on a paper map.

    The other day I asked my father
    where I might obtain a road map to my heart.
    There are none for sale, he said;
    no "Buy it Now with Free Shipping".
    The map you need to find your way home
    was spread out wide across your soul
    on the day you were born.
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