Point No Point
Did I visit this place once,
on an afternoon that skittered
between sun and rain?
I remember a desolate beach,
stepping on smooth eggs of stone,
past cedar logs lodged
like crowbars in the cove.
Did I photograph this scene then
or snap landscapes when asleep,
while walking in a dream?
In the scrapbooks stacked
against the wall, no pictures
of Point No Point exist.
Sometimes I wonder where it is,
this spot that defines futility.
Can we stick a pin in a map
and locate what might not be there?
Or, perhaps, despite seeing
where we wish to go,
we see no path; sometimes
we see a path but no destination.
On days when I feel lost,
on days when wind carries me off
to distant lands of restlessness,
on days like this, Point No Point
is where I am.
About the Author
Laury A. Egan has published a full-length poetry collection, Snow, Shadows, a Stranger (FootHills, 2009), and has received a Pushcart Prize nomination. Her work has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Ledge, Emily Dickinson Awards Anthology, Ginosko, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Centrifugal Eye, Leaf Garden, Foliate Oak, Lowestoft Chronicle, and Boston Literary Magazine. She is also a fiction writer and fine arts photographer. Web site: www.lauryaegan.com.