Read Poem: THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME by Magdalena Munro

POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

Why did Dorothy’s
slippers become a
fiery red?

They were always
silver

like strands of
tinsel billowing from
the beaks of blackbirds
in formation,

lifting up into a
caulked grey zone
above the outstretched
hands of dreamy
caravans,

streaking starspilled
skies ebbing and flowing
like the heaving chest
of God in a righteous
slumber.

Wake up –

I pass an estate
sale and am pulled
toward the buzzing
hum of a concealed
magnet.

Propped on draped
tables are trinkets,
battered books,
woolly coats,
and a leathery
parade of
clutchless
purses.

I finger the engraved
pewter of a baby spoon
and imagine the faraway
giggle of a peachy toddler
beyond the musty hallway
where strangers pick through
pieces from a departed one.

We carry her seeds into
vaulted spaces smelling
of citron and spruce.

Clutching the spoon,
I toss my dirty hiking
boots and slip into a
speck of silver.

View original post

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s