Shopping Cart
    items

      March 28, 2010Kelli YoungbloodTurning

      Holding up my hands, I’m not sure
      of right and left. From my house,
      a right leads me right to his door.
      Take a left to the alternate route,

      to a seat in the doctor’s waiting room.
      My complaint is my poor sense
      of direction; my sun resides at noon.
      Right from there, the ocean’s expanse

      holds Santa Monica at bay; left is UC
      LA. Maybe they could help me learn
      the coordinates of his geography.
      The 10 to the 110 to the 5 and turn

      right to my new one-bedroom. Moving
      is in my nature, but so is getting lost.
      I thought I’d finally stopped my roving,
      having found my rightful home at last.

      Can’t he trust the green light
      of my compass? Must we be bereft?
      I only write what I know is right,
      thus: all that’s left is all that’s left.

      from #22 - Winter 2004