In this week’s poem, Brian Davin invites us into a lyrically surreal encounter with what remains undone and unvisited. I love this poem’s gentle, stream-of-consciousness strangeness, and the unexpected beautiful release of its final turn.

Brian Davin has been living in Portland since 2011, operating a restaurant together with his wife. Originally, he grew up in New Jersey, attended culinary school in Vermont and has lived and worked throughout Europe and New England.

Poets, please note that submissions to Deep Water are open now and through the end of the year. Deep Water is especially eager to share poems by Black writers, writers of color, indigenous writers, LGBTQ+ writers, and other underrepresented voices. You’ll find a link to submit in the credits below.

A Map I Didn’t Want
By Brian Davin

A map I didn’t want
Unfolded from my pocket
Showing all the places
I hadn’t been

It led me down
A lonely street
Where a man lay
Wrapped up in old maps

No—it’s leaves,
And each leaf a country

The man held up
A candy apple,
With leaves stuck to it
Like countries on a map

It was a red balloon

And it began to float away

Megan Grumbling is a poet and writer who lives in Portland. Deep Water: Maine Poems is produced in collaboration with the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance. “A Map I Didn’t Want,” copyright 2024 by Brian Davin, appears by permission of the author. Submissions to Deep Water are open now and through the end of the year. For more information, go to mainewriters.org/deep-water.