NO HOME(LIKE) PLACE

Plaster Dorothy keeping watch
over a fake Christmas tree in
the dry Landmark fountain by
late December afternoon light,
            someday you’ll have to explain
            that enigmatic smile to me;

your little dog’s run off over
the rainbow, Henry and Em are
regulars at the Golden Plains
Cemetery Slumberers’ Club
            and those red slippers could
            really use a fresh coat of rubies.

Then again, where’s to click three times
            and go home to these days?

Is that the key to painted-on 
serenity, to roll with punches
and tumbleweeds and hang 
on to dreams of all troubles 
            melting in a June thunderstorm,
            air clearing into a scent of wet

sagebrush, the rolling trill of 
red-winged blackbirds and a full
double bow over the Cimarron?
Sing me your secrets, Dorothy;
            I used to know them. I used 
            to know this place, too, once.

Steve Brisendine lives, works and wrestles with words and impulse control in Mission, Kansas. He is the author of five books of poetry, most recently Full of Old Books and Silence (Alien Buddha Press, 2024) and Behind the Wall Cloud of Sleep (Spartan Press, 2025). In his spare time, he thinks wistfully about the Hawaiian shirt he accidentally left behind in a Minnetonka hotel room.