Monday, February 8

Working Girl.

Postcard poem being submitted tomorrow. Wish me luck friends.

Home is where your heart is, where your art is.
Where the breaking point moves like a hurricane
leaving the rubble of our lives in its wake.
The egg white sofa covers stained with
the sleeping bodies of children
who ache & sway like grown ups
resting away the stench of liquor & shame
Home is where Anderson Cooper is
singing the praises of the war torn diplomats.
The kitchen floors don't creak & they're always clean,
the room full of the stainless steel appliances
my mother never taught me how to use
& i know i don't belong here like the smooth rumble
of spanish hymns
all hips & breaded meat & femininity
Home is where the heart is.
Home is where the art is.

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