Your house feels foreign
like you are walking on the moon
all pitch and slant, grit and grovel
as you cross the divide and slither
toward the front porch. One misstep
and you could fall into a different
universe: peonies tiny pink dots
daisies a white smudge, the car
a smear of blue. When you step
closer to the edge, you get dizzy
as if you could be one of the maple seeds
you flick out of the gutter, twirling
through time, ready to split open
and start over in some other world.
Carol Tyx lives in Iowa City, where she participates in the community sing movement and supports community-based agriculture. Her poetry has appeared in Concho River Review, Caesura, and Remaking Achilles: Slicing into Angola’s History. Currently Tyx is the artist-in-residence at Prairiewoods eco-spirituality center. She also makes a phenomenal raspberry pie.