The Home
is where the
Phone is, anywhere,
everywhere, anymore.

Except soul-placed.
I’d give my gut

for a solar plexus
Of worth. Home dies each
Year. A Mother, A younger Sister,
anymore, I’d like to be with them.

The Hearth
Is fading, whatever; Whatever?

I think Anymore
involves flexibility.
Like an egg’s fragile form,
curved for everything,

The heart,
I mean. Wasn’t talking about the mind…

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 9/12/09