No Place Like
Don’t say that my heart is the moon;
you aren’t the earth and my love is not a distant
satellite, pulled. My heart isn’t that sharp curve,
a scythe that rises only under cover of darkness.
My heart is not that hole when the moon
is new and its light, absent. My heart is not full;
it does not call to wolves or signal harvest.
My heart is a witch. My heart is a dog
My heart is a brick. My heart is a tornado,
a wind spinning back on itself. My heart can tear
a house apart. Don’t you get it? My love is oil
and straw. My love is a fear-filled roar. My love
is the red field that lulls. My love is heels. My love
is the road. My love is the impossible journey home.
from Autumn Sky Poetry Number 4, March 2007— by Laurel K. Dodge
photo by Christine Klocek-Lim