I know this boy,
his unhappiness, his stern father,
quiet mother in the kitchen.
What he wants, more than anything,
is a horse of his very own.

So far north here, sometimes
it feels like we’re teetering
on the very edge of the Earth
and into the region the ancient maps
called Terra Incognita.

I dip into this tale of displaced children,
orphaned, waiting on their fortunes,
this summer of my own displacement.
The house has sold, my husband tells me,
his voice hollowed out by the phone.
We have to be out in sixty days.