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

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

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

Wake up –

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

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

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.

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