All the Way Home
The apron pocket in me.
The broken car horn in me.
The greenfinch in me flying straight into
the cracked mirror in me.
And the front porch light in me
calling to the midnight in me.
The harvest: the amaranth, the wheat.
The natural bridge in me.
The calculus. The birthday cake.
The Walt Whitman in me finds me scrumptious.
Including the smokestack and leftover dinosaur in me.
The emperor in me placed himself in charge
of the olive branch in me. The waitress in me
sneezes in his glass of hundred-year-old port.
The story I read in me.
The you-already-said-that in me.
The fire-walk: the glow, the blistered faith.
When the god in me is
good, it scrambles to pick up
the waitress’s dropped napkins. And
when it is bad it is horrid. It’s the leftyou-
at-the-altar in me, crying me
mee meee all the way home.
Paula Cisewski's first book is Upon
Arrival (Black Ocean Press, 2006). Her limited-edition fine press
chapbook, How Birds Work, appeared in 2002 through Fuori Editions.
Her poems have appeared in literary magazines such as Conduit; Spinning
Jenny; puppyflowers; Forklift, Ohio; Black Warrior Review; Crazyhorse;
the 2004 Shade anthology;
and Hunger Mountain.