Maps
That first disk of cells, held in place
like a map clamped to a table.
Fate maps, coded cartography of coasts,
unroll their silent directions.
This to become bone.
This to become brain.
And the disk curls into a little boat,
into a tube—like the topography of origami
pleating from two dimensions into three.
Maps have a history, an evolution.
What was peninsula on ancient charts
becomes island. Small continents swell,
large extrusions dwindle. Until it emerges—
the familiar shape of a world.
And so a fetus changes. Pharyngeal arches shrink
to the delicate bones of the face. Limb buds lengthen
from rounded paddles to extensive isthmuses.
As though a child’s unfolding
is less a tale of growth
than of discovery.