NICELLE DAVIS
WITHOUT SKY: WELCOME TO THE MAP GAME
Their game is this: they draw
monsters resembling a world
built by the generations before
them. When I buy them capes,
they roll their eyes with disgust:
Superheroes are so passé, they say.
Where do kids learn to say passé —
how do they know they’ve come
from zero—O, as in
Out of date, as in
Obsolete?
They say, if we were to fight for a world
unworthy of saving—we’d fight against
the Old—we’d work our way Out from
the fear you’ve invented. They say, we
can’t fly in your broken sky.
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THE MAP GAME RULE BOOK
PART I: PREPARING TO PLAY
1: Set up the board.
To set up The Map Game board, unfold and place it
somewhere in the real world where everyone can reach it.
Inside every fear is a world. Do not mistake one room for
all rooms. Arrival is only the lungful of air before departure.
Only by passing through each knotted threshold can you
access realms within your self(s). Like most things, before
being lived this will seem horrific, but remember “horror”
is just another word for “ruffling feathers.” You’re preparing
yourself(s) to fly below ground and dig above sky.
2. Shuffle the cards and stack them together in a pile.
Make sure that all cards are facing down so no player
can see what they have chosen for the rest of their lives.
Take turns pulling random motions of confrontation.
If this was tarot, we would call it divination, but since
it’s just a game, we call it the News. Think about how
the dinosaurs died—now make a wish on a shooting—
3. Place pawns on the start square.
The game comes with character-pawns. Choose an avatar—
you have now become a god moving mortal forms around.
Already we are having more fun than before, yes?—
All dolls eventually find other dolls and bang their plastic
bodies into each other like meteorites—like the formation
of the world—like the making of you—like wishes on wishes of—
4. Let the youngest player go first.
Have all players announce their birthdays to determine who
is the youngest; this should make all those suffering from ageism
feel the weight of time holding their heads deeper under water.
Not to worry. Learning to breathe when there is no air is how
we discover new things—like how to grope at the empty spaces
you abhor—go inside zero— remember the word-root for entry
is birth.
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*** ** ***
THE NEW WINNING: THE MAP GAME EXPLAINED BY AGES 10, 8, AND 6
The Master Mapmaker explains, it is a game we’ve designed to win.
The Mapmaker’s Apprentice, expounds, we make maps to fight out from what we fear.
The Youngest clarifies, like the Titanic, there should’ve been a way out for everyone.
The Master Mapmaker continues, should have, but wasn’t.
The Mapmaker’s Apprentice adds, yeah, like The Towers—when they fell, no one was ready.
The Youngest chimes, we’ll be ready.
Ready for tsunami, hurricane, tornado. They watch them. On YouTube. And map them.
Global warming is real you know, The Master Mapmaker announces.
More-some will be saved because we played The Map Game, says The Apprentice.
But not all, The Mapmaker reiterates. No, not all can be saved,
The Youngest agrees, reluctantly. He loves the Mapmaker more than the world.
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*** ** ***
THE MAP GAME OBSTACLE ONE: THE FIRST DANGEROUS THING THAT EVER LIVED ON EARTH
The first dangerous thing that ever lived on earth was happy—
rolling across mountains with 18 machete legs, wagging its hammer-
tail while poison drippled liquid rainbows down its abdomen.
It formed iridescent trails as it sneaky fingers tickled itself with
sensual antenna. It eyes divided and redivided—saw color as viewed
from a vibrating bed. It slept on rivers and dreamed of currents—
when it talked in sleep, water kissed its forehead in gratitude for
speaking its unspeakable names correctly. When the sun rosed,
he bid it good morning When the moon lilied, he told it goodnight.
All was good until the first harmless thing that ever lived on Earth
arrived.
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*** ** ***
THE MAP GAME OBSTACLE TWO: THE FIRST HARMLESS THING THAT EVER LIVED ON EARTH
The word prey and pray fill a mouth with the same shape—
mouths opening on the sounds as if to take in food, water,
or full kiss. A harmless thing is made for desire; its nature
an open valley. Its interior, cupped hands extending with
gestures of offerings—it says, take my emptiness, a space
for companionship—a hole that is whole self in yearning
for acceptance. There is nothing more dangerous on Earth.
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*** ** ***
THE MAP GAME OBSTACLE THREE: THE CHILDREN IMAGINE DE-FEETING THE EVIL CENTAUR OR CONFRONTING FEARS OF ABSOLUTE FREEDOM
This palace is home with no direction: the motherless prince puts dishes in the toilet, food in
the bed, doors open nowhere
and windows are without views. The image of a half-man / half-animal is something evil, that is,
something half-loved /
half-hated. The eldest child asks if she copulated with a bird, would she have a winged-child?
When asked where babies
come from, she says Evaporation. Yes, close enough. From water lifted by the sun, Centaurus came
from a cloud shaped
like god’s wife; born hunched over the arch of betrayal, he slept with horses because no human
would have him. He was
untouchable as our broken promises. The children fall to the ground exhausted from running.
They’re a heap of many legs and
elbows, a monster attempting to outrun the rain—the curse of not knowing anything other than the
most wild-half of themselves.
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THE MAP GAME OBSTACLE FIVE: THE FLOATING BABY-HEAD OF DOOM OR CONFRONTING FEARS OF CONSUMPTION
There is a baby without a body—a giant head
floating on a lake of purée. Her mouth always
open, but food flows right through; no place to
put the world, she is pure hunger. The Children
make hand motions; they are swimming on dry land,
while the lake in their heads has them drowning.
The baby wants them, even though no amount of
other can fill her. The Mapmaker warns: appetite
will mistake you for applesauce. You must hide,
wait, until she falls into dumpling sleep. Then.
RUN! faster than tearstreams—drop your feet
harder than gravity’s pull. With the tread of your
shoes, move the world towards the quickened
rotations of happiness. On the other side of this
lake is an invisible orchard. Making it safe to shore,
they can eat themselves full with imagined fruits.
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*** ** ***
A SINGLE MOTHER’S MAP
At night,
wonder if the moon
understands solitude,
after years of listening
to the wishes of others
has it formed its own
desires?
In the desert
a hill catches planes before they reach
runways—wings in flames—metal melted
into tears, crows collect flickers for nests,
same as they amass stray balloons, Christ-
mas-tinsel and dropped change.
To find a pocket full of tears, you must
disturb a crow-nest’s unbroken weave.
Just this year,
hikers found a boys arm,
well the bone of it. Lost
in a war not many remain
to speak on, or is that of.
What is the on and of this?
Who held on?
Who was of this?
Bone.
When tested,
birds only take what is
needed. To build a home,
they show no preference
for shine—sheen is what
they have to harvest from.
I am warned
what seems big now will seem small.
What seems small, will seem large.
Large. And lost.
Sleeping,
my son’s face casts back the light
of the moon. This isn’t my light—
it is its own brilliance. I watch him
breathing. His breath too large to fit
in my pocket.
We
collect objects because
time doesn’t fit in our pockets.
Lover, if I burn you,
don’t hate me.
You should have known better
than to treat fire like a fallen piece of the moon.
Other, I offered you
a door that could open
anywhere;
you only saw an old
brass-knob
to set on a shelf.
In my son’s pocket
is a bruised dandelion and a fistful of rocks.
“With these diamonds we can see the world”
my son tells me—the whole world in my
pocket. “I can buy us sight” he tells me.
“We’ll see,” I reply, “we’ll see.”
My son wakes in the middle of the night—
kicking at a blanket of sweat, he asks—
can we live forever? Mommy. I want to live
forever.
How to say yes?—
Teach me how to play your game—the one
with maps and monsters—every location—
limitless. If I can learn this, I can learn yes.
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*** ** ***
MAPS BY AGES 10, 8, AND 6
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NICELLE DAVIS
Nicelle Davis is a California poet, collaborator, and performance artist who walks the desert with her son J.J. in search of owl pellets and rattlesnake skins. Her poetry collections include The Walled Wife (Red Hen Press, 2016), In the Circus of You (Rose Metal Press, 2015), Becoming Judas (Red Hen Press, 2013), and Circe (Low Brow Press, 2011). Her poetry film collaborations with Cheryl Gross have been shown across the world. She has taught poetry at Youth for Positive Change, an organization that promotes success for youth in secondary schools, MHA, Volunteers of America in their Homeless Youth Center, and Red Hen’s WITS program. She is the creator of The Poetry Circus and collaborator on the Nevermore Poetry Festival. She currently teaches at Knight Prep Middle School and with the AV Migrant Education program.
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February 2023.NICELLE DAVIS
A Dozen Nothing 