- Ancient Map
Your dad gets it free at a Gulf station where from the car you hear Burt ask him where he’s headed. When your dad says Gatlinburg then Nag’s Head, Burt gives him a toothless grin. Unfolding it he’s beseeching the god of journeys for sweet weather, no flat tires or car sick kids. Folding it up requires all his patience and famously odd engineering skills. During your mom’s nap he misses a turn, gets lost, and must pull over and climb out to unfurl the whole thing spread across the hot car hood. O map traced by my father’s index finger, he doesn’t mean these curses. Please save our family. [End Page 13]
David Huddle is retired from a distinguished career as a Professor at the University of Vermont, and from post-retirement assignments at Hollins and Austin Peay Universities. He has published poems, short stories, novellas, novels, and essays and is working on what he hopes will be his twentieth book.