Your skin will be different
but your bones will remain the same.
Belonging is a maze
you are not meant to escape.
Home is where you push
your body against the door to get it open.
We all have a fear of falling,
why not build a ladder to face it?
As a child you confused the words sacred and scared.
You still do sometimes.
Utah is a beautiful and terrifying place.
You must drive through it.
You will find out what you need and what you cannot carry:
mockingbird, mourning dove, crow.
You are older than Jesus,
but not dead yet.
You feel claustrophobic
under smaller skies.
Possibility is a quicksand.
Home is a loose tooth.
You still can’t tell by looking
if the tide is coming in or going out.
–
Julia McConnell is a poet and librarian. Her manuscript, Landlocked, won the 2022 Wheelbarrow Books Emerging Poetry Prize and will be published by Michigan State University in 2023. She’s also the author of a chapbook, Against the Blue (Finishing Line, 2016), and her publications include Right Hand Pointing, Plainsongs, Screen Door Review, SWWIM, Lavender Review, MockingHeart Review, and other journals. Originally from Oklahoma, Julia lives in Seattle with her Jack Russell Terrier.