map-making 

The map terraforms, with peaks and valleys outlined by the entangled blood of my ancestors.
Turn to page 1491 to know them before Columbus.  

This map originates in my future mother and father, before they knew of hidden treasure; it starts
in the Dominican Republic:  
Eastern part of the island first known as Ayiti/Kiskeya to the indigenous Tainos; 
Haiti/primo of the western divide; shared blood runs deep with ambivalence. 
Turn to page 1844 to know how Utopia was. 

The key(s): cassava, guava, brown skin and virtuous hips/drumming out rhythm of codex: 
la tambora. (see perico ripiao)  

The key(s): language/ferried through imperialist teeth to the ears of settlers on other stolen 
shores- Barbakoa, Hamaka, Hurakan. Turn to the pages of your Oxford English to find  our
stolen treasure.  

The map re-forms in New York circa 1979, stretched out on the vientre of the woman
who would become my mother; I’m the 4th X. Turn to page 2016 to know my
beautiful  struggle with art and commerce.  

She and my future father have to figure out how to locate empty bellies and unearth hidden 
dreams, with limited instrumentation. Turn to page 1993 to see how I stole my blessing.  

Manhattan’s map was also formed by una tortuga carrying the Algonquin nation on her 
mothering back. Turn to page 1626 to learn how these 
rich/varied/starved/divided/fighting/spiritual people  
were duped at their own game of trade. Stolen
in translation. (see serpent’s tongue) 

The key: Map, a poem by Wislawa Szymborska, circa 2014. Said to be her last. In it,  she flattens our world.
The one we carry in our desires. My favorite line confirms  my own desirous nature for redrawing my world:  

I like maps, because they lie.

Armando Batista (he/him) is the child of Dominican immigrants and a hyphenate (writer-performer-storyteller-educator-artivist-content creator). He holds a MFA in Writing from Vermont College Fine Arts and a BA in Theater from Temple University. His poetry has been published in Death Rattle Writers Fest/OROBORO, Dominican Writers Association's first anthology of Dominican writing, Ni De Aqui, Ni De Alla, and translated and published in the Mexican literary journal CRACKEN. His essays are published in the online journals past-ten, The Maine Review, and The Abstract Elephant Magazine. His debut poetry chapbook, Cosmic Mesa, was published this September by Dominican Writers Association (DWA Press).

You can follow Armando on IG @armando_batista_poet and find links to his creative works and upcoming classes athttps://linktr.ee/a.batista