THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME ❋ Ohara Hale

I’m learning how to become:
normal

We transform
like rare jungle orchids that wilt and black at the touch
to fields of wheat in abundance
so our love can be harvested

So I bruised my altar, burnt my wings and
filled my belly with toast
my face with flesh
lips and the local market and
pillows shaped like you

This second life
is much like the first
except the glasses are clean
and I can hear the sound of
leaves breaking

Back and forth, Dorthy :
we are always traveling from one
beat to the next, pressing two fingers
against neck for the red