Home is where

Found my heart on a shelf in your home

covered in dust, crumpled behind the piano

a poem

Tracked it across the land wide and brown

buried in cinnamon soil, overlooked by big gum and

charred bush

I know my heart drowned in the sparkling sea

where ozone and froth combine to churn diamond sand

into me

Sniffed out in the warm of your car’s cracked seats

the baked-biscuit-brown smell of hot vinyl

beats

It beats, it beats. I’m defeated

I can’t collect

All the pieces

at once

so I save my tears

in a leather sleeve

hoping

one day

for my heart’s cleave

Day 13 prompt (still catching up): write a poem in which the words or meaning of a familiar phrase get up-ended. I chose “home is where the heart is” as I’m travelling and seeing many people and places who hold pieces of my heart

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