Home

HOME / Wyatt Prunty It is a place you've never been Or passing at a distance seen And recognized as where you slept, Nursed, then slept again but somehow left Without good-byes or one address To get you back. Doors open less Than give to what's behind them; Home is like this, a clearing stream Reflecting you and aU you see, pushed on By what must follow it alone Yet multiple as numbers That separate and join. There is no wonder At the haU's dark end, a key that's tight Against your hand or a blinding light To find you out, or show you in; There's only "home," that word where you begin Searching again for where you've never been. Like smUes with teeth, it's where the bone Breaks out, the fracture that you cannot set, A language that does not forget. 184 · The Missouri Review ...