Voices on the Wind
Voices from Home
by Kathryn Jacobs
Life thins along the edges, bleeding out
through permeable borders –
Which just means
I'm missing you; please email.
At the edge
I feel like an amoeba, groping. There's
a man mislaid somewhere, I reach out (poke?)
until the cold and empty sucks at me
and I retract and clutch what matters here:
a job, a check, diploma.
Because you've got to play it safe, they say.
I feel gelatinous like jelly-worms
when I'm so very hungry. And I know
you've got to be here somewhere (stretch, expand)
but I can't find you –