Traveling Through Oz

14 Jul

 

All whirling walls and wooden floors

you descended

just as my sequined shoes

began to click down yellow bricks.

So, I carried you

in my basket,

three companions blended

into one.

A brain– a heart — some kind of nerve.

Your basket voice lifted

my spirit,

my feet skipping a golden path,

traveling through Oz.

Kansas was so far away—

your voice in my basket,

like a hand to hold

in sunny fields of corn,

in darkened forests,

in a cold grey castle,

woke me like snow from the dream of poppies

 

and held the hourglass’ horizon

until my foot could turn toe

in a new direction.

Traveling through Oz,

I found my feet.

Only they know

where the golden path will go–

so,

I click my heels, say goodbye–

My friend, I think I’ll miss you most of all.

Home to Kansas I carry

a bittersweet basket and leave it

by my front door,

filled with golden dust and folded thoughts

of a glowing green city

whose light touches the path

beyond.

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