Marisa Beltramini, New Map

Everywhere people
wear socks,
press palms together,
reach for things only
to put them down again.
What have you put down lately?
What are you waiting for?

Today’s god is the god
of boiling water.
Let us be thankful for the slow hiss
the sound of sleep
that will not stay,
a bright fuse burning backwards into—
let us be thankful because
water boils.

Here that hiss is hello,
I am small
as an iridescent beetle,
my back an arched and ready mask
of orange and black.

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