This is a map
this .
is a map . if this . is a map .
then i must believe . in the thing we call .
a nation . then i must believe . this is a
map . of my house . if i believe
that this is my house . then i
must believe . i can live
in a crater .
like the one on
the moon .
i would put our
beds . at
the bottom .
of the bowl .
rest . where it's ea
siest . let force kee
p us . down . the pl
ates . for communi
on . might slide of
f the dining table .
that wobbles . two
legs on a curve . bu
t we would laugh .
at every meal . and our ne
ighbors wouldn't . underst
and what . is so funny about broken .
glass . and if i believe . in a nation. then i
must believe . in the things done . to
constitute . a nation . these things include .
a map . in which . each dot . is a bomb .
dropped . include . knowing . this is a map .
of our lungs . trembling . and our
eyes straining . and our mouths
blown open . teeth
gnawing . to make
a . home .
here .
By Brian Dang (they/them), a Vietnamese/Chinese playwright/poet/teaching artist based in Duwamish Territory (Seattle). For Brian, writing is an act of envisioning an eventual communing, an opportunity to freeze time as we know it, and a reaching for joy. They really like bread.