Ann & Kirby Kenny

COMING HOME

Never felt so distant,
The lonely visit home—
Animal and extant as wild death.

You were my shelter when things were bad,
And the quilt flowers made our bed.

When I rested in your neck,
You had me.
When I lived an awful dream,

You held me together.

For now, this place is furniture.
It curves, stone-heavy,
To lash out with envy.

You’ve made a brute your room—
A bully-boy who smacks his broom
Up, down, around.
Up, down, at you.

But we find our freedom:

From the mad cow, we run.
From the pink sea,
We’re gone.