Like Home is something to quit, like she
wouldn’t chase you down, mean-
bit and tragic, break her own neck
to get your pity, droop-eyed, dim, but always on
the far/not-far horizon, tucked under her wing—
a wallop, sulk, an ill-honed brick, ready
to drown you, sweetly, teeth-bared and sharp-
buckled, to profess her love for you as she
locks the iron around your ankle, intimate
malice, naming you Nothing
at the mention of who you might have
become without her, cocking her head
back, hearth-mouth gaping in a cackle.
I stare into the dark vortex: source, abyss,
umbilicus.
published in California Poets, Part IX, December 2025
(Link also includes an interview conducted by editor, David Garyan.)
(Link also includes an interview conducted by editor, David Garyan.)