A Poem By Dorothea Tanning
by Mark Bibbins, Editor
If an expatriate is, as I believe, someone
who never forgets for an instant
But, if knowing that you always
tote your country around
with you, your roots,
like a soul that will never leave you
stranded in alien subsets of
yourself, or your wild
that being elsewhere packs a vertigo,
a tightrope side you cannot
pass up, another way
how not to break your pretty neck
falling on skylights:
then, yes. All homes are home; mirages
everywhere. Aside from
gravity, there are no
never were, nor will there ever be,
no here and there to foil
Stay on the planet, if you can. It isn’t
all that chilly and what’s more,
grows warmer by the
Dorothea Tanning (1910–2012) was a painter, sculptor, and writer.
This poem was published in Tanning’s first book,
A Table of Content (2004), and in LIT. It is reprinted here by kind permission of Graywolf Press.
What’s that you say? One poem isn’t enough for you, you want all the poems? Very well. Here are all the poems.
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