The Library of Maps, #4
THE CHILD'S MAP OF TIME

In the vast Library,
There was a room for children.
Here the tables and chairs were lower,
And the maps simpler.

S. was brought here by his mother every Saturday,
And it was the high point of his week.

Only three
When he was first introduced to the Library,
He was five years old on this particular day.

When he arrived,
He found two other children there—
Twins, red-haired and slim,
Who did not speak.

They were jointly studying the Map of Time
—the child’s version, that is.

Restless with his own choice of map,
S. looked longingly over at the twins—
Until, finally,
Mustering courage,
He asked if he could join them.

Silently,
They drew up a chair
For him to sit between them.

The Map of Time was surprisingly small,
With a folded section at the top that,
—when unfolded—
Revealed another fold.

It was said
That no one
Had ever seen the complete map.

This day as the three children slowly
Unfolded the seventh section,
They heard
—suddenly—
The sound of a grandfather clock ticking.
A clock that had sat silent
In the corner of the room for years,

A clock
That, even though the staff had several times brought in experts,
No one had ever succeeded in making work.

As soon as they heard the clock,
The twins looked intensely at each other,
Nodded briefly,
And then reached out their hands to S.

They sat for a moment together, holding hands.

When S.’s mother came back to pick up her son,
She found the room empty—
S. and the twins had disappeared,
And the clock had stopped.

by Moira Roth
Written 3/22/01
[published in "On Maps and Mapping" issue, Performance Research 6, no. 2 (summer 2001)]