Inspired by The Wizard of Oz.

We’re not in Kansas anymore,
Dorothy.
That yellow brick road,
paved with childhood dreams
and nothing’s real,
it seems.
No place like home
is a metaphor
for tossing daydreams
on the floor
and moving on.
Always feeling you’ve
met the one,
and sacrificing hearts
on platters of gold.
Kisses going cheap
and desires burning
brash and bold.
Passion consuming
barren chasms
and all the times you told
me I was jealous.
Wasn’t my fault
your appetite
was overzealous.

But we’re not in Kansas anymore,
Dorothy.
And you can sing your songs
of bluebirds in the sky,
and I’ll cherish this moment
with no one asking why
I live in my dreams.
Fantasies proving high
upon my rosy specs.
But no one really checks
the spectrum of rainbows.
Hearts love in myriad shades of pink,
and where the black goes
I don’t know.

But it’s nice here.
Shedding happy tears
and taking in the view.
Trading in the past
for futures that I
always knew.
And we’re not in Kansas anymore,
Dorothy.
Not going back
with the naïve clickety clack
or your ruby red shoe.

Sarah Drury