Zebra Seeking Spoons

I had a map.

Straight roads,

sunlit milestones,

an ending I could see from the start.

Then came the storm.

Not a brief squall,

but a season that never left—

its rain soaking the paper,

its wind tearing at the corners

until the map dissolved in my hands.

Chronic illness rewrote my compass.

North became “rest.”

East became “wait and see.”

Some paths vanished entirely.

I grieved the life I thought was mine—

the one I built in pencil and promise—

but grief is a kind of seed.

In the quiet,

new trails began to grow,

crooked but alive.

Now I walk differently—

slower,

with detours for the body I carry.

I notice wildflowers I never planned to see.

I find beauty in destinations

that don’t match the old design.

The plan is gone,

but the journey remains—

and I have learned

to build my future

in waterproof ink.