“Home is where the heart is” she whispers,
silent syllables beckoning, her eyes deep.
She, my muse, my siren, my heart — calls
and I cannot help but answer
Like a sailor thirsty for salvation for skin dry and parched,
I let myself drown in the promise of peace.
Her siren call silent but ringing like a bell,
“Dinner is ready!” it rings, come and savor me.
Come and consume me whole, become me!
In the beginning was the word and the word was made
So eat me. Rip me into pieces so you can swallow
and let me grow like a seed within you until you walk tall
like a red wood giant. She pleads with me.
I am weak and she is too honest for me to forget.
like a child broken by the world with only a blanket to hold,
I clutch her to my chest in impotent jealous rage
but I am weak and I must let her go free.
So here I stand ashore, battered and broken
safety blanket tossing in the wind like a flag to claim my existence.
I am here it declares boldly, I exist.
Here I am letting her be free, letting her grow,
branches reaching for the sky, hoarded in heart no longer.
Home is where the heart is, she says
But I let her go free for my heart can’t contain her.
Be free, I say, tasting the words, tasting her fly